La Donna in Ghiaccio
by et-spiritus-sancti
Summary: A woman in the 21st century is abducted by aliens and eventually cryogenically frozen for centuries. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Paris is seeing ghostly images and fears he is losing his mind. Fate has a funny way of bringing soul mates together, and it cares little about time.
1. Chapter 1

**La Donna in Ghiaccio **

**Chapter 1**

**Somewhere Outside Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

**Year: 2006 AD**

"Elena." The voice was distant. Familiar. But too far away to care about. Yet, it _was_ calling her name.

"Elena?" The voice was tinted with worry now. Perhaps she should pay attention.

The young woman opened her eyes and was greeted by two brown quivering orbs staring back at her. Elena blinked, at first quite confused by the creature before her.

"Elena, are you alright? Should I find Brian to do it?"

The girl speaking was Liz. She was certain of that. Memory and consciousness suddenly spread smoothly through her. She tore her gaze from the labrador-shepherd puppy to young Liz, the kennel girl.

"No," her voice came as a harsh whisper. She cleared her throat and gathered a deep breath, bringing with it all the typical odors of an animal clinic. She was able to identify the strong scent of disinfectants and the musty stench of the tomcat caged a few feet away. Swallowing, she continued.

"No, Liz. I'm fine." The teenager stared at her doubtfully. Annoyed, Elena picked up the IV catheter and an alcohol swab. "Just hold off the vein, please."

The puppy squirmed under the sudden restraint, but Liz, a girl who had raised goats since she could walk, kept a firm grip on the puppy and held the vein off under her thumb like any seasoned vet technician. The dog's arm had already been shaved as Elena swabbed the area with alcohol, the coolness of it making the puppy twitch. Elena watched with pleasure as the vein popped up. Steadying it with her thumb, she slid the catheter in, feeling the surge of satisfaction as a flash of blood appeared. She immediately attached the IV line, flushed it with saline, capped it off and went to work taping the arm. Finally securing it all with bright red vet-wrap bandaging. Setting the IV pump, Elena sighed as the puppy whined and squirmed some more in Liz's arms.

"Maybe if you didn't eat everything in sight, you wouldn't have a blanket lodged in your intestines, hm?" The puppy glared at her, almost in understanding. Ignoring him, Elena nodded to Liz. "Go and tell Brian he's ready for his pre-med. I'll watch him."

Liz seemed confused as she let go of the dog. And rightly so. It would've been easier for Elena to go, but she needed a moment alone. She needed a moment to figure out why she had—what could she call it? Hallucinated? Blacked out? She dared to recall the images as she kept a firm hand on the puppy, who was already licking at the bandage over his catheter.

The images came to her instantaneously, strong and clear as memories formed just moments before. There had been blackness. Impenetrable blackness save for one red blinking light. And so cold. The kind of cold that numbed the tips of your fingers and made it hard to move. She could feel it now, despite the fact that her hand was buried in the soft, thick and warm fur of the puppy. There had been someone with her, of that she was certain. It was a man. And his still, frozen fingers were laced with hers. He was behind her, and she laid against him. There was no sound, save for the harsh breaths of them both. Harsh because the air was almost not breathable. So thin. Beyond them, that single blinking red light continued. Then breaking the silence, a cold, emotionless voice made a horrifying announcement, its own voice crackling and broken.

_"Warning. Life support critical. Available oxygen at eighteen percent."_

The man let out a soft sigh. "Don't worry, Elena. It'll just be a little longer and they'll find us."

In her heart she knew the man was wrong. Anger boiled in her gut and she wanted to lash out at him. To scream at him that he was wrong and they were going to die. She suppressed the emotion. After all, she had no idea who he was. Only that being close to him was important. And somewhere, her heart whispered that she loved him. Impossible. It all was.

Her shoulder was suddenly shaking. Her whole body shuddered and her eyes snapped open, feeling much like she had when Liz called her from the dreams. This time it was Brian staring at her, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. Through his scruffy goatee, she could see his frown.

"Elena, everything okay? Liz said you were out of it."

Automatically, she looked beyond Brian to see the girl concentrating seriously on washing a bowl at the sink. Suppressing a scowl, Elena nodded at the young veterinarian.

"Yes, I'm fine. Working on little sleep today, that's all." With a forced smile, she put an arm around the puppy. "Ready?"

Brian held up the syringe that had about 1cc of the light sedation. With ease, he found a spot on the puppy's rump to inject the medication into its muscle. The puppy jerked in her arms but Brian was quick and a second later he placed the cap back over the needle.

"Alrighty, I'll meet you in surgery in ten," He gave the puppy a quick scratch on his head before looking up at Elena, "And don't you Italians take coffee breaks every other hour? I suggest you quickly down a cup. It's gonna be a long surgery and I don't need you zoning out when I'm elbow deep in intestines." With a quick smile, he turned on his heel, his pristine white coat billowing slightly behind him. Once he was gone, Elena fixed on the young girl at the sink who was obviously trying to appear invisible. Quickly returning the now sleepy-eyed puppy to its cage and starting the IV pump, Elena then walked up behind Liz as she washed the same bowl twice and tried to ignore the angry technician.

"If you ever do that again, I'll…I'll…" She sputtered, trying to conceive a reasonable threat. The girl turned, an eyebrow raised.

"I could get you into far more trouble that you could get me."

Elena's blood chilled and she felt as though her insides were doused with freezing water. There's no way she could know. With one more meaningful look, Liz turned her back to her and continued to wash the same bowl.

Elena roughly shifted her Ford Fusion into gear. It was late. Right before she had planned on leaving, they received an emergency call for a choked horse. _Cazzo_. Fuck. Shit. _Merda_. It whatever language, the words fit her internal reaction. Hours of tubing and pumping later, she was finally on her way home, smelling now of not only dog but horse too. So much for a romantic evening with Ian. She was exhausted, rank, sweaty and absolutely terrified of Liz's threat. Not to mention she had managed to hallucinate twice that day. Without the assistance of ketamine. She shuddered, thinking about the little bottle safely in the zipper pouch of her purse. It had become too easy to steal. And apparently too noticeable. She almost pulled over that very moment to chuck it into the woods. But she continued on, eager to get out of the countryside and back to the warm, welcoming lights of the city. She imagined the warm shower, washing off all the grime and filth. Then finally into her feather-soft bed and in the arms of Ian. Maybe they could even still make it a romantic evening. He might be angry though. There were three missed calls from him on her cell phone. All of them were accompanied by voicemails. She didn't feel like calling him back.

Elena immediately felt comfort form in her gut when she reached her exit, pulling into a busy city street. All of the lights from the buildings and intersections almost made you forget it was night time. The country wasn't like that. There, it was impossible to escape the darkness. When she reached her apartment building, her usual spot on the street was already taken. Not surprised, she parked about a block away. The city didn't frighten her. She could walk around any inch of it with her head held high. Tonight, however, she felt a twinge of fear as she exited her car.

Elena smoothed over her scrub top and adjusted her purse strap before finally heading towards her building. As she walked away, she pointed her remote to the car and heard the locks clack into place. Keeping her chin up, she walked briskly on the uneven sidewalk. She started to walk faster when she couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on her. She broke into a run when she thought she heard her name whispered. Even though it was just a block from her building it seemed as if she was no closer, no matter how fast she ran. The chilly night air stung her face as she ran, the muscles of her legs aching after such a long day of use. The adrenaline was kicking in though and the pain quickly subsided and she sprinted even faster.

All the while, she could have sworn footsteps were running just as fast right behind her. She reached the steps of her building and took them two at a time. She jammed her key into the door-lock and in one fluid motion slipped inside and slammed it behind her. She almost couldn't breathe as her lungs burned but eventually her chest heaved up and down. She was terrified to turn around. She could picture whatever chasing her pressed against the glass doors, eager to get inside and take her. Slowly, once she regained her breath, Elena turned to look outside. There was nothing. No demon or vagrant. There was no movement in the shadows. Not even a bit of wind.

Gasping still, she backed away from the doors, opening the second door-set and stumbling to the elevator. She was beyond exhausted now, and her muscles twitched and spasmed in her legs. She smashed her hand on the elevator button, relieved when the doors opened right away. She hit the button for the fourth floor, almost shrieking when the elevator groaned to life. Finally starting to relax, she leaned her head back against the wall, her heart still pumping faster than it should have. The ding of the elevator having reached her floor jolted her from her position against the wall. She exited slowly, her keys still out as she headed for her door at the end of the hallway. After such an exertion, her legs now felt like cement and her walk to the apartment took far too long. It took more than a couple times to get the key into the door lock and when she did, the little click filled her with some composure. She opened the door and stepped in, closing the door behind her, then collided with a solid figure.

Elena gasped; she wanted to shriek, but it was stuck in her throat. Familiar hands gripped her upper arms to keep her from backing out. Elena couldn't make out his face, but just by feel, she knew it was her boyfriend.

"Ian," She breathed a sigh of relief, but his grip on her did not loosen, and it started to hurt. Her gut tightened in anxiety. Why didn't he let her go?

"Ian, stop it." She tried to sound strong and unafraid, but her voice came out trembling and broken. His fingers squeezed into the delicate skin of her arms.

"I called. You didn't answer." The voice was Ian's, yet it wasn't. His tone was deadly. That alone confirmed Elena's worst fear. Sometimes he would go months without doing this. She could even manage to make him angry and he wouldn't do anything. At other times, the smallest event could set him off. Like ignoring his calls. Elena licked her lips, a shudder passed through her body and she chose her words carefully.

"Ian, we had an emergency. A horse. My phone didn't even have signal out there."

He suddenly gripped tighter and gave one violent jerk of her body, enough for her to feel a bone in her neck crack.

"Liar!" He raised his voice for the first time, his hands an iron grip around her. Elena felt tears prickling in her eyes. It was too dark to see his face. But she knew his teeth were probably bared and his eyes would be almost black.

"You were with _him_, weren't you?" Ian finally let her go, but just to shove her backwards. Her back and head slammed against the door. Before she could recover herself, she was on the floor. It took a second more to realize she'd been backhanded. Pain bloomed over her cheek and a wet, warm substance slithered down her face and traveled to her neck. She knew it was Ian's college ring that had opened her cheek. The pulsating throb of pain followed. Again, she had little time to react when his hands grasped her scrub top and he yanked her to her feet.

Elena didn't scream out. She didn't fight him. She knew such behavior would only further infuriate him. Instead, she searched for the little room inside her mind. The very corner of her consciousness where she could hide from the pain. The little room contained all the warm, happy thoughts and memories she had experienced. There was a small window in that room, glazed over and difficult to see through, but on the other side of it lay reality. Vaguely, she could hear Ian's horrible accusations and threats. The room vibrated whenever he struck her. She experienced vertigo when a strike to her abdomen made her double-over and fall to her knees, but she felt no pain. He grabbed her hair and he dragged her to the bedroom, his hand entangled in her dark locks. It was difficult to keep herself separated during the ordeal. She stayed lifeless as he violated her, making a complete mockery of the love-making they used to enjoy sharing with each other. Deep inside, Elena stayed hidden in her little room. She closed out all senses until everything turned to black.

_There was no time in this place. Only the passing of one event to another. There were events of pain, loneliness. Nakedness. Terror. But not what she was used to. They did not abuse her out of anger or intoxication. They were methodical and precise. And devoid of emotion. They did not care about Elena the person. Just the human female. Elena was no more._

The alarm woke her from the nightmare. Elena shot up in the bed. Cold sweat trickled down her back and she gasped for air. The alarm on her cell phone continued. On instinct, she reached for the end table, but it wasn't there. Cursing, she reached over to the floor, feeling her scrubs and she frantically fished for the pockets, eventually feeling the smoothness of her phone. She quickly shut off the noise. Sighing deeply, she noticed the glow of the numbers on her phone, reading that it was five am.

An indiscernible grumble came from beside her. Elena turned her head slowly to see Ian, open-mouthed and drooling, sprawled out on his side of the bed. The new bottle of ketamine was resting in his open hand. Sleepily, he scratched himself before continuing to snore. Elena took a deep breath, immediately regretting it when sharp pain exploded in her abdomen. Hissing through her teeth, Elena pressed her hand to the tender area feeling her swollen flesh. Getting up slowly, she tiptoed out the bedroom, grabbing a towel that had been lying on the floor.

The hot shower water on her wounds delivered some relief, but she planned on bringing a bottle of Advil with her in preparation for the painful twelve hour day ahead. She wasn't sure how long she stood under the hot spray. Suddenly, the bathroom door swung open. Elena gasped, putting her back to the slick shower wall. She could make out Ian's figure through the blurriness of the shower curtain. He ignored her and trudged over to the toilet. She heard him flip up the toilet seat and proceed to urinate. When he was finished, he shuffled back to the door. Before closing it, he turned and Elena could barely make out his features through the curtain.

"Don't fucking use all the hot water." With that, he slammed the door shut behind him.

Elena released a substantial, shaky breath. With it, tears flowed and she slapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the sobs.

After dressing and drying her hair, Elena breezed into the kitchen, ignoring Ian as he stood over a frying pan that chattered with the sounds of fried eggs and bacon. The smell, usually something Elena had considered scrumptious, left a foul lump in her throat. She opened the fridge and grabbed a yogurt. Leaning against the counter farthest from Ian, she quickly jabbed spoonfuls into her mouth. Ian nudged the bacon around in the pan. He was already showered and dressed for the office. Without looking up, he gestured to the pan.

"You want some?"

Elena stared at him. With acid in her voice, she replied with a sharp, "No."

Ian glanced at her, his gaze resting on her cut cheek. "You didn't hide that very well."

Tossing the spoon in the sink and the yogurt cup in the garbage, Elena grabbed her purse and keys that Ian must have placed on the counter. Swinging the strap over her shoulder, she fixed him with a glare.

"Maybe you shouldn't have hit me."

Without missing a beat, he retorted, "Maybe you should have called me." He popped a morsel of bacon in his mouth, then smirked. Disgusted, Elena whipped passed him, inhaling the cologne she'd given him for Christmas last year.

As she walked briskly down the block to her car, she recalled the fright from the night before. Such unexplainable anxiety and fear. Everything seemed innocent now in the light of the sunrise. She made it to her car and pressed the unlock button of her remote. Instead of a loud click of the locks, it was dull. The sound usually made when the doors were already unlocked. Elena halted and stood completely rigid. She always locked her car. And she clearly recalled doing so the night before. Expecting the worst, she slowly came around the front to the driver's side. There was no broken glass. That was good at least. Did they use the old wire hanger trick? She opened the door and inspected the stereo. Completely intact. Puzzled, she gave a once-over to the rest of the car. She normally didn't leave anything valuable in there, but the entire incident was bizarre. Nothing was disturbed.

The deep chiming of bells caused Elena to jump, nearly slamming her head on the door frame. The church down the street had wonderful old bells that chimed on the hour. This morning, however, Elena almost lost her bladder at the sound of them. When she heard seven chimes, she cursed to herself.

Elena joined the hustle and bustle of morning traffic as she pulled onto the busy city streets. It took only a few minutes though for her to exit downtown and she found herself quite alone. Everyone on the other side of the highway were jammed together trying to get into the city. Meanwhile, she was one of the few on a commute away from the hectic metropolis. Most of her fellow commuters were semis and she had to pass one every few minutes.

The blinding light of the sunrise made it an uncomfortable drive into the countryside. But she finally arrived at the old clinic, pulling in to see Liz's, Brian's and the receptionist's cars already there. As usual, Elena was the last to arrive. She turned off her car and inspected her reflection in the rear view mirror. Even with a substantial amount of foundation, the cut on her cheek was quite visible and the flesh surrounding it was red and puffy.

"_Sei una scema, Elena_." She murmured to herself. Sighing sharply, she gathered her things and headed towards the clinic. Once inside, she was again immediately assaulted by the odors and sounds of the hospital. The dogs in the kennel were barking and howling as if screaming "me next," and she could hear the clacking of cage doors as Liz took the next dog out for a walk.

The office was buzzing when she arrived. Both phone lines were ringing and the receptionist's hair had its 3 o'clock-frizz going on already. Barely having a chance to remove her coat, Brian whisked into the room dressed in his coveralls and dropped a backpack in her arms before heaving himself into a chair and taking off his clinic sneakers . He glanced at her quickly as he pulled on heavy, rubber barn boots.

"You're here early." He remarked with half a grin.

Elena shifted uncomfortably. "I'm actually on time."

"That's excellent. We have a call," The doctor grunted as he struggled with the other boot, "A three year old heifer was supposed to freshen two weeks ago and now she's down."

Elena felt her stomach churn. She was not in the mood for helping to cut out dead baby cows. Then again she was never in the mood for this procedure. It was dirty, disgusting, and would probably take half the day. She suddenly felt a glint of hope however.

"Ah, well, you see I don't have my coveralls with me today." That should give her an excuse to stay.

Brian breezed by her, grabbing the backpack out of her arms along the way. "No problem, I have an extra pair in the truck, now let's get a move on."

The grinding in her stomach intensified and with a deep sigh she turned around and left the same way she came in. She caught a whiff of the cologne Brian left in his path, realizing how similar it was to Ian's. It would be the last nice thing she'd smell for a long time. She suddenly heard the roar of a diesel engine from outside as Brian started the truck. Picking up her pace she left the clinic just as a stiff breeze whipped through the parking lot, bringing with it the smell of the diesel gasoline. It was a cool autumn day and blue sky peeked between dense, fast-moving clouds as the sun continued its journey upwards. Elena watched Brian rummage through the custom storage on the bed of his truck, probably making sure that he had the chains, crank and wire ready for the grisly task ahead.

Another stiff wind whipped the thin scrubs Elena wore and goose bumps rose on her flesh. The woods behind the clinic almost seemed to whisper in the breeze and Elena suddenly felt the same eyes on her as from the night before. She felt an intense gaze followed by the sound of her name; male or female she couldn't distinguish it. Elena turned around, staring into the woods. The trees caressed each other, making that eerie whisper. The sound in her ears went hollow, as though she were under water, but the voice remained. It called to her like a predator trying to seduce its prey. It said things to her in Italian, English, and a strange garbled language she couldn't understand. Soon, another voice joined, but it didn't whisper. It growled. A low, throaty growl like a mad dog about to attack. Then it seemed as if something was getting ready to rush towards her. She swore the ground vibrated as hard, rapid footfalls came nearer.

"Elena!"

Tom found himself sitting upright in bed, the sweat damp on his back. Everywhere, his skin crawled as if million of tiny insects were burrowing just under his flesh. His chest heaved up and down, trying desperately to fill his lungs with air, but they only burned with each breath he took. His room was dark, save for the gentle blue light behind his bed that served to cast eerie shadows on the objects around him. A small hand touched his arm and he swore he could feel all those tiny bugs scatter under his skin. His body shook as he looked to the source of the touch.

"Tom? What's wrong?" It took him a long moment to remember where he was, why he was here, and probably most importantly what this woman's name was. She was beautiful, certainly. Her long red hair fell in gentle waves about her shoulders. Her blue eyes reflected perfectly the blue light behind them that also illuminated her milky skin. She was also naked. That was the trigger that brought back all the memories of that night and Tom was suddenly quite aware of his own nakedness.

"Elena?" It was the only name on his mind. He had to take the chance that it was hers. But two seconds later, he was proven quite wrong. Her lovely brow creased and she huffed a sigh, throwing off what little bit of bed sheet was actually covering her. She swung her exquisite legs to the floor and sprung off the bed to gather her clothes that were scattered throughout the room. Slowly, Tom's senses returned and he squeezed his eyes shut in regret.

"Madeline." He muttered. Crewman Madeline McCormick. The blazing redhead of Engineering. She scoffed.

"Too late, Tom. I should've known better. Computer, lights!" Bright illumination filled the room and both of them squinted under the sudden assault on their eyes. She struggled with her bra for a moment before finally securing it and hastily pulled on her matching panties, "Sarah and Valerie tried to warn me about you. But I just thought you were _so_ cute. Idiot." She tried to squeeze herself back into the impossibly tight dress and only succeeded in getting her arms stuck. With a growl, she tore it off and threw it at Tom's head.

"God! I used up _two_ weeks' worth of replicator rations for that stupid dress!" She quickly located Tom's shirt and slacks and slipped them on easily.

"Madeline, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Save it, Lieutenant," She crawled under the dinette table to retrieve her handbag and shoes before finally standing with a hand on her hip, looking rather ridiculous yet still stunning in the baggy clothes, "You'll get these back when I feel like it. Don't ever speak to me again, Tom Paris." She made an about face, red hair whipping about her as she made for the door, stuffing her handbag under her arm and one red 4-inch high heeled shoe in each hand. The door whooshed closed behind her, the scent of roses in her wake.

Tom sat stunned. How did that just happen? He liked her very much. He'd had his eye on her for months waiting for the right moment to ask her out. He planned their evening so carefully in the holodeck and was actually genuinely surprised when she wanted to end the night in his quarters. Why the hell would he forget her name? His thoughts finally worked backwards to the dream that startled him from his sleep. Elena. Who was she? Tom could only recall facets of this dream. It was certainly the same woman that had been haunting his thoughts for weeks. Quite certain he wouldn't fall back to sleep, Tom slid out of bed and rustled through drawers to find another set of civilian clothes. He pulled them on not even certain if they matched and stormed out of his quarters bare-foot.

The trip to sickbay didn't take long and he only passed a couple people on the way. He knew they stared at him and his disheveled appearance, not to mention it was far too early in the morning for senior officers to be about. He ignored them and finally entered the sterile, brightly-lit atmosphere of sickbay. The Doctor had his back to him at the console and looked to be running a self-diagnostic.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency." His usual announcement was clipped and cool as to be expected as Tom trudged over to a bed, "Ah, Mr. Paris. Rather early in the morning isn't it?" Then the Doctor stretched open his mouth wider than it seemed possible and let out a long, vocal yawn which he finished with a smile. Tom stared at him from the edge of the bed.

"Doc, what was that?"

The Doctor's smile fell and his shiny forehead creased. "It's simply another addition to my personality sub-routines. Did it seem genuine?" He asked hopefully.

Tom considered telling him that it was actually slightly terrifying but the Doctor had become more sensitive these days. "It was quite a yawn, Doc."

Satisfied, the hologram came to Tom's side with a medical tricorder. "Now what brings you to Sickbay so early, Mr. Paris?"

As he sat there, Tom suddenly felt silly for coming. But he'd learned since being in the Delta Quadrant that if anything seemed out of place, it might just be an alien screwing with you. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"Well, Doc, I've been having these…" He tried to find the right words, but the whole situation seemed ridiculous. The Doctor waited patiently as he scanned him, "I don't want to call them dreams. They're more like memories, but—I'm positive I haven't experienced them before."

The Doctor listened, nodding as he interpreted the tricorder readings. "Do you think it is a suppressed memory?"

Tom considered that for a moment but in his bones he knew he'd never physically experienced the images in his head. "No. They involve someone I've never met. And it all occurs here, in the Delta Quadrant. At first I didn't pay much attention to them but it's happening when I'm awake now. And—well it woke me from a dead sleep this morning followed by some…temporary memory loss."

The Doctor stopped scanning his body and concentrated on his head. "What are the dreams about?"

Tom felt heat creep into his cheeks. Usually he wasn't bashful about such a subject but the dreams were quite vivid and in some ways disturbing. The Doctor picked up on his hesitation.

"Now now, Mr. Paris. No need to be shy. I am a doctor and quite professional." The Doctor put a manufactured expression of concern on his face. It looked like he'd been practicing the expression for quite some time.

Tom sighed and reasoned with himself that this was why he came here. To find an answer. "They're about a woman," He thought he saw the Doctor attempt to suppress an eye-roll, "She's someone I've never met."  
"An alien?"

Tom thought the question through carefully. Unless an alien was manipulating his mind into thinking the woman was Human, she was definitely Human. "No."

"Well what happens when you see her?"

Tom looked away and concentrated on the carpet below his slightly swaying legs. "The timeline doesn't make sense. Sometimes her and I are—" He gesticulated awkwardly. Why was it so hard to say? He felt such a need to keep it private, "We're, you know, intimate. Other times it's like we just met."

The Doctor didn't judge and instead nodded before going over to his medical tray filled with an array of hyposprays. "You said it's been happening during the day too?"

"Yeah, it's involuntary though. One moment I'm at the helm, the next I'm—" Tom chuckled and felt warmth in his stomach, "Well—I'm not steering the _ship_ that's for sure." The Doctor did not seem amused by his joke and handed him a hypospray.

"I want you to inject 1 gram before you go to sleep for the next 5 nights. It will relax your brain to the point where you shouldn't dream at all. Then we'll see what happens."

Tom pocketed the hypospray and hopped off the bed. "Did anything show up in your scans?"

"No, but if you have an episode during the day, while you're awake, I want you to come straight to Sickbay, understood?"

"You got it, Doc."

Author's Note:

Well I have several chapters written and the outline complete, so I feel comfortable posting the first chapter. If it seems worthy to continue updating, please let me know. Thank you for your time, I hope you enjoyed it!

~Sancti


	2. Chapter 2

Authors Note: Hey all. Word of warning, it gets dark from here on out.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 2**

"Elena." A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and a scream tore from her throat. Her knees buckled and lost balance. The voices ceased at once, and it seemed there wasn't a breath of wind. She found herself on the ground and glanced up to see Brian kneel next to her.

"Geeze, Elena, you scare easy." He offered his hand to her and she took it gingerly. He pulled her to her feet in one movement though she was still unsteady and her knees were shaking. She ignored him at first, looking everywhere for the animal that was surely about to attack her. But the world was still. A bird chirped happily nearby and in the distance, cicadas started to chant. Slowly she turned to Brian who regarded her with measured concern—and judging by the expression on his face seemed to finally notice the cut on her cheek.

Elena nodded towards the truck. "Shall we?" Without waiting for an answer she walked away.

The first fifteen minutes in the truck were spent in silence. A country station played softly from the radio, slightly drowned out by the windows being open. They didn't pass a soul on the remote rural roads and Brian drove a little faster than usual and did not apologize for some of his hair-pin turns. Elena thought he would have said something by now, but he stayed thankfully quiet. Maybe he thought it was none of his business and she was grateful for it.

"I'll never understand you."

She was wrong.

Elena sighed, choosing not to respond. Brian scoffed, not taking his eyes off the road as he seemed to drive faster. "I know there's a whole battered woman's disease or whatever. But you're not like that. You don't take shit from anyone. Why do you take it from him?"

It was a question Elena was quite familiar with. She asked herself this immediately before, during, and after one of his episodes. Her answer used to come easy—because he would beg her to forgive him. And he loved her. And she loved him. He stopped asking for forgiveness a long time ago. Yet she stayed. Only now it wasn't out of love. She was terrified of him. If she left, he would find her and probably kill her. She could stand occasional beatings, but she would not sacrifice her life. And she knew he wouldn't kill her as long as she stayed—he needed her too much. Needed her access to drugs. She wished she could tell Brian all of this.

Instead, she replied with a shrug, "I guess I have that battered disease."

He shook his head and his fingers gripped the steering wheel like he was imagining choking Ian. "All you have to do is leave. Get out before he kills you one of these days."

"I can't. He would find me."

"Then go to the police, for Christ's sake," He snapped, "You're not helpless. Just show them your face and they'll have him behind bars before you know it."

Elena made a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, and one of his _amici_ will make his bail and he'll kill me. Stay out of it, Brian."

He looked like he was going to say more, but clenched his jaw and looked away. A moment later he turned up the radio to hear it better and Elena knew he would say no more on the subject. Part of her was relieved. Part of her wanted him to keep going, telling her that she could get away and finally be happy. What a fantasy.

They finally reached the farm about ten minutes later. Elena's heart sunk even lower when she realized where they were. Farmer Saudal's. The place was disgusting. Hundreds of cows, yet no pasture to speak of. They wandered tightly packed together in mud and excrement. The barns were crumbling and the structure they entered a few minutes later was like something out of a horror movie. Darkness pervaded throughout the barn. The few windows in the walls were all covered in a thick skin of dirt and grime that had built up for decades. Flies buzzed everywhere, typical for a cow farm, but the flies here seemed almost vicious and dived at you to get a taste. The humidity in the barn almost gave one the sensation of swimming and combined with the stench, it was like swallowing all of the rancid smells. Elena had been in many cow barns before, but the Saudal's farm was borderline animal abuse. A bellow thundered throughout the barn and it went straight to Elena's gut. She knew that sound. It was the sound of unbearable suffering.

Elena carried the chains and buckets while Brian hefted the long metal pieces of the crank and his medicine bag. Mr. Saudal trailed behind them, spitting tobacco out as they went. They found the heifer down in a pile of feces, mud and old straw. She was breathing heavily, her huge belly swelling painfully with each breath. The stench coming from her was merely a taste of what they would soon experience. It was the smell of death—that sickly sweet odor of fruit gone bad.

Brian lifted her tail, stained with mud and feces to see an ugly brown mucus oozing from her vulva. Muttering, he donned his shoulder-length gloves and lubed his hand, then giving the heifer a little pat on the rump first in apology, he dove his hand in. She grunted in discomfort but didn't protest much more. Elena donned gloves as well and readied the surgical pack and buckets of warm water. Mr. Saudal stood almost directly behind her as she worked; close enough for her to hear every little swish and spit of his tobacco.

"I thought about just shootin' her," Mr. Saudal crossed his meaty arms over his chest, "You people charge so damn much just to come out here and pull that shit out of her." Neither Elena or Brian responded. Mr. Saudal didn't seem to care who was listening. "She's thrown off some good calves though. Hate to lose her genes. What are ya finding there, doc?"

Brian grunted as he was now shoulder deep inside the heifer. He felt around a bit more, then gingerly pulled his arm out. "Well, it's definitely dead. Been so for probably a few days."

Mr. Saudal cursed under his breath, then leaned over and spit another wad into the dirt. "It's gonna be a mess then. You don't charge by the hour, do ya?"

Brian again ignored him and entered her once more. "I've got a leg, but I don't think we'll get too far before it rips. Elena, get the wire and crank ready."

Three hours later, Brian and Elena were covered in blood, body parts and various bodily fluids. An unrecognizable lump of calf parts was engulfed in flies behind Brian. Elena used to think she would get over the smell, at least after a few hours. But it only seemed to be thicker and the lump in her stomach felt like it would rise into her throat at any moment. Even Brian was starting to look a little ill. He was currently on his belly, his entire arm inside the heifer, trying to wrap the chain around what was left of the calf inside her. He had lost his glove long ago and didn't bother to put another one on. The heifer was exhausted and had quit bellowing an hour ago, and now just breathed heavily. Mr. Saudal seemed to be the only one unaffected as he stuffed more tobacco in his cheek.

Elena suddenly felt nauseous. Beads of sweat moistened her neck and a dull ringing began in her ears. She imagined the yogurt curdling in her digestive tract. Every smell and sight was unbearable.

"Doctor Carson?" She managed to croak. He glanced up at her wearily, running a bloody hand across his forehead and leaving a strand of uterine slime behind. When he saw the look on her face, he perked up.

"God, you look green," He nodded his head toward a grimy window, "Go get some air."

She started backing away before he finished his sentence. She caught the look of amusement on Mr. Saudal's face as she stumbled through the filth on the ground. Cows on the other side of the fences stared with dull interest as she tried to find her way out. The sound of water rushed in her ears. A sticky cobweb clung to her face and she wiped at it desperately trying to remove the clinging material. Her hands suddenly found a door handle and she pulled at it with one hard tug. It was as if she broke a hermetic seal. Sunlight melted into her skin and a cool breeze caressed her body. Elena took a few steps forward before bending over to put her hands on her knees. She eagerly drank in the fresh air—well, still the air of a cow farm, but not containing a trace of decomposition.

The bile in her throat finally receded and her hearing returned to her. She took a few more deep breaths and wiped away the remainder of cobweb on her face. Just a few more minutes and she would return to the hell.

"Who are you?" The voice was an impossibly sweet and innocent tone from directly in front of her. Still bent over, Elena lifted her head slowly to find a little girl standing a few feet in front of her. Elena couldn't quite believe the sight at first. The child was like something out of a fairy tale. Her sun-kissed blond hair was pulled back into two perfect braids that ended at her shoulders. She wore a flawlessly clean and pressed blue and white checkered dress with a pristine white apron. Knee-high white socks clung to her knobby legs and black buckle shoes adorned her feet. She had the bluest eyes Elena had ever seen and her strawberry-red lips were set in a hard line. Her hands rested behind her back as she regarded Elena with caution. Elena thought the girl to be far too pretty to be related to Mr. Saudal but she had to be his grandchild. Elena stood up straight and tried to smile.

"I'm with the doctor—the vet."

The little girl noticed all the blood stained on her dark coveralls and scrunched her nose.

"Are you taking care of Amber?"

Elena only knew the cow by the number on its ear tag, but assumed they were discussing the same animal.

"Yes, she should be fine."

"The girl's eyes lit up. "And her baby?"

Elena's smile faltered. "I'm afraid we were too late to help the baby."

The corner of her lips curled into a frown. "You can't put it back together?"

Elena cringed. The child must have seen some of the carnage. Elena shook her head. "I'm sorry, hon."

The little girl looked at the ground. Elena couldn't be certain if she was crying. She took a step forward and reached out a hand to comfort the girl, but the child immediately stepped back.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I—oh my God." Suddenly, the girl brought her hands forward. In them, sat the rubbery, decayed head of the calf. Elena's mouth tried to work, but no words came out. The girl's hands gripped the head tight and mucoid matter dribbled over her fingers.

"You—hon, you need to put that down."

The girl took a step back, and pressed the head to her ridiculously clean apron.

"Now that's a very yucky thing you're holding. You need to put it down." Elena took another step forward. In a flash of blond braids, the girl took off. Elena found herself chasing her. She followed the thick sounds of her shoes slapping on the muddy ground. Elena chased after the sound, seeing a glint of blue and white checkered fabric and her blond braids. How could she run so fast? She ran past clusters of cows and around the corners of barns and finally to a fence line. On the other side of the fence laid a vast, green cornfield. The stalks were tall, full and produced an eerie sound as the breeze rustled them. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Elena's chest heaved in and out, her body not accustomed to a sudden sprint. She didn't imagine this girl, did she? The event was such a bizarre one, that she wasn't quite sure if it had happened.

She took one more visual sweep of the area, then turned around. When she did, she noticed the piece of checkered cloth hanging off the wooden fence. Her eyes followed to the cornstalks beyond it and saw a brown-red wetness shining on a leaf of a stalk. Elena stared at it for a full minute. She really didn't want to go trouncing through a cornfield looking for an obviously disturbed little girl and her calf head. However, as a responsible adult, she should find said disturbed girl and return her to her equally disturbing family to deal with her. Elena tried to brush off the creepy vibes she was getting and ventured into the field.

"Hey! You're not in trouble! But you need to come out before your family gets worried."

No answer. A breeze picked up and rustled the stalks again, reminiscent of the sounds the trees made earlier—before the voices started. Elena's heart rate picked up and goosebumps rose on her flesh despite the warm temperature. She turned around. She wasn't going any farther. She walked a few feet, pushing stalks out of her way, expecting to see the fence-line at any moment. Nothing but more corn. She cursed under her breath. She hadn't gone far. Maybe a few feet in another direction. She pushed through a few more stalks then stopped dead. At her feet, already home to flies, was the calf head, positioned perfectly.

Officially creeped out by the situation, Elena took two steps back. The breeze made its appearance again, this time stronger than ever. The birds stopped singing and the flies covering the calf head suddenly scattered. A whisper in soft Italian carried across the tassels of the corn. She could only make out her name. She tried to move her feet, but they didn't budge. She tested her other limbs. Immobile. She tried to scream. No sound left her lips. The wind was no longer a gentle zephyr. It whipped her hair out of its loose bun and the stalks slapped against her body and face. Something behind her growled and breathed hot air on her ankles. Voices in a strange garbled language whispered excitedly from every direction. Her vision blurred around the edges as darkness closed in.

"Mr. Paris?"

Tom blinked a few times at the view screen, watching the stars drift by as Voyager traveled smoothly through space. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tom slowly swiveled his chair around. He was faced with the steel gaze of Captain Janeway. She regarded him with a raised eyebrow and steepled fingers. He wasn't sure what to say and stared back at her stupidly.

"Mr. Paris, are you quite alright?" She asked again, her tone a little less stern.

Tom decided that was a no. "Actually, Captain, permission to go to sickbay?"

Janeway regarded him for a moment with narrowed eyes then nodded. "Granted."

Tom wasted no time in getting to the turbolift, giving Harry Kim a nod in response to the young man's questioning expression. Once in the turbolift, with the doors whispering closed, Tom released a great rush of air from his lungs. Then to his utter surprise and dismay, tears sprung from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Unprepared for such an emotional response, Tom hastily wiped them away.

"What the hell, Tom?" He sputtered. This vision was by far the most disturbing. It was her again. Always her. But she was terrified. It was like he was there with her, watching her. There was chaos all around them. People screaming, clutching their naked bodies. All of their faces were in shadow, except for hers. Her face shown like a beacon of light in the black wilderness. He reached out for her as he and the others were herded down the corridor like sheep being led to the slaughter. Horror creased the features of her beautiful face. Then he saw them. They stood out as the only ones clothed, their faces shielded with terrifying black masks. He felt a painful, static charge on his back and he lurched forward, almost close enough to touch her. They had something akin to cattle prods and they used them to keep everyone in a tight knot.

The screams were deafening. They reached the end of the hall as giant black doors groaned open to reveal a cage. Everyone was pressed inside the small enclosure—far too tight for this many people. Through the bars of the cage, he could see other cages, also overflowing with shrieking inhabitants. He couldn't help but think of the Borg. Were they being assimilated? But this was no Borg cube. It was all grey steel and black bulkheads. In the middle of the great circular room, shiny steel tables were lined up, each manned by a masked person. On the tables, prisoners were strapped face down as the masked men crudely tattooed symbols onto their shoulders. They worked with heavy, fast hands and the victims screamed in agony, their hands and feet feverishly straining against their shackles. Then, he watched as one of the masked men picked up what looked like a gun and pressed it to the base of a man's skull. A loud "thunk" echoed as he pulled the trigger and the man went limp. The others followed suite, and soon all the prisoners on the tables were silent. Each of them were then unstrapped and dragged out of sight. With their tables now free, they came for them.

She was pressed against the front of the cage. Surely they would take her next. He tried to push his way through the mass of bodies pressed together. He had to reach her. But the other prisoners saw the masked man coming, and pushed back. The masked man opened the gate and without hesitation grabbed her by her long black hair. He screamed for her, but his voice was drowned out by the din of shrieks as a new prisoner was taken from each cage. He launched himself forward again, using all his strength to get people out of his way. Finally, he wrapped his hands around the bars of the gate and shook it with all his might. There was no way he was getting it open. He stretched an arm through the bars, his hand reaching fruitlessly for her as the masked man dragged her to a table. She struggled the whole way, but she was like a mouse in a cat's jaws and he could only watch as the man threw her down on the table and strapped her naked body to it. A scream ripped from her throat as the crude looking armature bar stabbed her, leaving bleeding, black symbols behind on her fair skin. When the man was finished, he watched helplessly, his arm still outstretched imagining he could save her, as the man loaded the strange, gun-like weapon and pressed it against her skull.

"_Deck five, please exit. Deck five, please exit. Deck five—"_ Tom shook himself back to life, the thin, sterile voice of Voyager's computer demanding him to get off the turbolift.

Tom wiped his face again. "Yeah, yeah, I'm goin'."

When he finally reached sickbay, his stomach sank when he found the Doctor examining Seven of Nine. The ex-Borg turned her icy gaze onto him and Tom felt immediately in a submissive state, as he always did when the woman bore a hole into his head with her emotionless eyes. The Doctor merely glanced in his direction.

"Ah, Mr. Paris," He turned his attention back to Seven of Nine as he messed with the implant by her ear, "What is the nature of the medical emergency?"

Tom cleared his throat, not breaking the gaze with Seven, as if she was a mad dog who might attack him if he turned his back. "Uh, well, Doc, you told me to show up if I had any…episodes during the day."

"Why are your eyes exhibiting more moisture than is required?" Seven piped in before the Doctor could even respond.

Tom frowned and crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive posture. "They're not."

Seven raised her natural eyebrow, the only break in her expression. "They are."

Before Tom could counter the woman, the Doctor was at his side with a medical tricorder pointed at his head. "When did it occur?"

Finally breaking the eye-lock with Seven, Tom concentrated on the Doctor. "Five minutes ago. When I was at the helm."

"What was the nature of it?"

Tom felt his stomach tighten. "Doc, I'd feel more comfortable discussing this without an audience." He nodded to Seven, who sat attentively on the bio-bed. She proceeded to make something of an eye roll and slipped gracefully off the bio-bed and walked towards the door.

"I believe the Doctor is finished," She gave his figure a once-over that made Tom feel far more self-conscious than he should have, "I would make sure the Doctor investigates your excess moisture." With that, she walked briskly out of sickbay. The air in the room seemed to lighten a little with her departure.

The Doctor sighed wistfully. "She is quite a character, wouldn't you say, Mr. Paris?"

Tom bit back what he really wanted to say about Miss Borg and pointed at his head. "Yeah she's great, what's going on in there, Doc?"

He lowered the scanner and gestured to the bio-bed Seven had been occupying. Tom sat down on its edge, noting the slight warmth left behind from Seven. He would admit he was a little surprised to know that she emanated any warmth at all. "You didn't answer my question," He said with the tone of one correcting a child's behavior, "What was the nature of the daydream?"

Tom felt his stomach knotting as he recalled the images. "I—I don't really know what I was seeing, Doc. It wasn't like the other times where it was dream-like. It felt like a memory." As Tom described the event, the Doctor changed the settings on his medical tricorder and continually scanned his head, the lines on his forehead knit together like rows of dough as he read his findings.

"Hm," The hologram responded, "Well, your dimethyltryptamine levels are very high. Are you certain you weren't asleep, Mr. Paris?"

"Yeah, Doc, I was sitting up, still piloting the ship."

The Doctor snapped his medical tricorder closed and walked briskly to a console. "I would like to observe you for the next twenty-four hours and perform a sleep study."

Tom groaned. Twenty-four hours with the Doctor. All he could picture was opera and the Doctor complaining. Tom hopped off the bio-bed and straightened his uniform. "You know, Doc, I love spending time with you but why don't you just slap a monitor on my head and let me return to my duties. I mean, I don't think my condition is serious enough to warrant—"

"Nonsense, Mr. Paris," The Doctor came at him with a hypospray and injected something into his neck before he could protest, "Your condition is affecting your duties and you can't be daydreaming at the helm. Don't worry, I'll inform the Captain," He then handed Tom a pad, "I also suggest that the next time you have an episode, record what you remember," With a tone of finality, the Doctor disappeared into his office, humming. Tom sighed, defeated and peeked around the corner to see into the office.

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Tom said loud enough to get the Doctor's attention.

The Doctor looked up from his desktop computer and shrugged, "I suggest you take a nice nap."

Thank you again for reading and I hope you're hooked! Thoughts and criticism welcome!

~sancti


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Pulsing. Like a heartbeat. Constant pulsing. Elena fought through the fog in her head, grasping at reality wherever it appeared. She found the strength to move her fingertips. Then wiggle her toes. Eventually, her hand found its way to her chest, resting over her heart. Her skin was slick with cold sweat. The beats of the organ beneath her hand were rapid. Thinking like a vet tech, Elena felt she was even tachycardic. But the beats of her heart did not match the continuous pulsing noise that surrounded her. One by one, Elena gathered her faculties. There wasn't any kind of identifiable odor. The air seemed thin and sterile.

Her eyes were crusted closed and she wiped at them frantically to regain her vision. Upon sliding her wary eyelids back, her vision was met with grey. The image before her was blurry and she had to blink several times for it to clear. The ceiling above her was nothing remarkable. Cold steel stared back at her along with pipe-work that snaked throughout most of the ceiling. Three lights built into the ceiling released a dull glow.

With a slight groan, she turned her head to the right, her neck protesting and popping as she did. More grey. The wall was grey metal and in it she could see a blur of pale color that she assumed was a reflection of her body. Turning her head to the left she was met with the same sight. She left her head there, her cheek pressed against the cold metal beneath her, and stared at her blurry reflection in the wall. She could feel her heart rate decrease under her hand until it almost matched that dull pulsing sound that surrounded her.

Elena wondered next if she could sit up. It seemed like a daunting challenge, but one she was willing to give a try. Recalling which muscles to use, she drew her hands back and pressed them against the hard, frigid floor and pushed herself into a sitting position. Now she had a full view of her surroundings. A square room. Perhaps ten feet by ten feet. Nowhere on the walls was there a seam where a door would be. The only distinguishing detail was a raised bit of metal on the floor shaped like a circle in the corner of the room. Goosebumps then started to sprout all over her flesh, and that was when she realized something very wrong with her body. It was uncovered. Not a stitch of clothing on her.

Elena stared down at her naked flesh, bewildered firstly that it took her this long to realize it, and secondly that she was quite certain she had been wearing clothes in her most recent memory. It was at that moment when everything swept back into her mind. The cow, the little girl, the cornfield, and…then what? She squinted her eyes, as if this would help her memory come into better focus. How had she gotten here? What was here? Where was here? Why does her shoulder burn?

Elena blinked and a hand went her right shoulder blade, hissing when her fingers grazed the dry, puckered skin there and the burn turned into a sizzling pain. The skin she felt was rough, like a bad sunburn. Sighing, she then tried to decide if it was possible to stand. She tensed the muscles in her thighs and flexed her feet, noticing with pleasure that there was still dark red polish on her toenails. With more effort than it should have taken, Elena wobbled and made it to her feet, feeling a little light-headed when she got there. She took another visual sweep of the room. The only other object she took notice of was a small drain in the middle of the room with a grated shield. She noticed the floor sloped slightly towards the drain. When she realized she could walk, she slowly made her way to the raised metal circle in the corner of the room. Looking down at it, she noticed what looked like a button next to it. Cautiously, she brought her foot towards it and used her big toe to press the button. Immediately, the circle, no bigger than a foot in diameter, flipped up like the lid of a trash can to reveal a dark hole. The odor that assaulted her nose quickly made her realize its purpose. Elena greeted her new toilet with a scrunched nose before using her toe to push the button again and the lid snapped shut with a tinny sound that echoed in the room.

She backed away from the offensive thing until her back made contact with the cold wall. Instantly her shoulder sizzled again in response. She whimpered before stepping forward and craning her neck around to look at her reflection in the wall. Finally, she could make out dark markings on her shoulder blade. Markings that were not any written language she recognized. But they had clearly been tattooed there within the last twenty-four hours. Elena then turned around to look at herself. From her hazy reflection, she could make out her features. Her long hair looked frizzy and clumpy. Her scalp started to itch and she scratched the middle of her head. Her eyes seemed so dark, but the rest of her skin was pale. Her breasts were plump and erect from the cold. Her eyes travelled down to her flat stomach, kept in such a condition for fear that Ian would beat her if he found any evidence of fat. Ugly bruises bloomed over her abdomen from Ian's attack the other night. More evidence of his control over her was present in the absence of hair around her genetalia—waxed professionally per Ian's orders. A tattoo in flowing script ran across her rib cage reading, _Sognare, Amare, Vivere. _She had it done when she graduated college. Finally her legs. She could just make out the bruises from all the injections. Terror gripped her for a moment. She hadn't gone a day without a shot of ketamine in over two years. She knew withdrawal would be coming soon.

She backed away from the wall and slowly sat down in the middle of the room next to the drain. She hugged her knees to her body and lowered her head to rest against them. To try and make sense of her situation seemed impossible. She could only piece together what she knew for certain. She was in a place unlike any she had ever experienced. She was obviously a prisoner. And branded. Like a cow. Her scalp itched again. She scratched along the line where her hair parted, and when she pulled her hand away, a clump of hair came with it. Elena stared at the wavy dark hairs in her hand, her lips parting in shock. She let the hairs fall through her fingers onto the floor. She slowly raked her fingers through her hair, and gasped in horror when more strands came loose. Her breathing quickening, she scrambled to stand and went to her toilet, stomping on the button that triggered the lid. With tears running down her cheeks, she frantically ran her hands through her mane, tossing the hair into the dark hole. Hair stuck to the salty tears on her face and she let out a frustrated growl trying to wipe them away. When her head was as naked as the rest of her, she fell to her knees and slapped the button again. Choking on tears, she laid down and curled into herself like a child.

Sleep came to her at some point. Ugly dreams assaulted her mind of that dreadful cow. And strange people. People with deformities on their necks peering down at her and touching her. She woke to a sound. It wasn't the gentle pulsing noise though that was ever present. It almost sounded like a huge door latch. Then the sound of grinding gears. Her eyelids snapped back and instinctively she scrambled away from the noise, pressing herself into the farthest corner of the room. The wall opposite of her then moved. It strained against its own weight as it moved out and then up. Bright light bled through and Elena protected her eyes with an arm. When her vision adjusted, she could see the outlines of five people. They seemed to be dressed in white.

Something that resembled a stretcher wheeled in behind them. Elena stood and pressed herself against the wall, barely able to breathe.

"_Chi siete_?" She screamed at the figures in her native tongue, "_Che cosa volete_?" The light was still too bright to make out their features. Two of them came towards her and she could finally see that they were men, but there was something strange about them. They pointed something that resembled a toy gun at her. She gathered a breath but before she could speak, one of them fired. A bright purple light shot out of the gun and struck her abdomen. She felt no pain, but numbness bloomed from where she was hit and spread until she crumpled to the ground. Her head struck the ground with what she felt was quite some force, but again, she felt no pain. She silently wondered why she was still awake. She quickly wished she had gone unconscious.

The two men that had stood before her picked her up effortlessly, one holding her legs and the other had his arms hooked under her armpits. Her head hung back lifelessly, allowing her to stare at the man's midsection. He wore a neat white frock and he smelled like bleach. Her body was lowered onto the stretcher and her neck was positioned straight. The people did not speak. Then they were off. They left her room and turned into what she could guess was a hallway. The stretcher rattled beneath her as they went.

A woman then appeared in her vision. If Elena could gasp, she would have. The woman's face was what you would call Human, as far as she could tell because a mask covered her mouth, but her neck sported what she could only describe as gills. Three slits on each side of her neck. Even stranger, it looked like the gills were decorated with makeup and green, sparkly pigment was blended about them. As Elena observed them, the delicate flesh quivered slightly in tangent with the woman's breathing. The woman had shocking red hair gathered into quite the impressive beehive atop her head. She looked no older than Elena, and pretty, from the part of her face she could see. Her green eyes stared down at Elena's face emotionlessly. The woman took a little brown bottle from a pocket in her uniform and she removed the top to reveal an eyedropper. She leaned in and squeezed the contents of the eyedropper into Elena's eyes. She guessed it was some kind of lubricant since she could not blink.

The man behind Elena's head, pushing the stretcher, let out a grunt and said something to the woman in a tongue she did not recognize. The woman seemed annoyed and gestured to Elena, replying with wicked speed. Although she could not understand her, Elena took from her tone that she had put the man in his place because he did not respond, and she seemed satisfied. They picked up speed then and she was wheeled around a corner. From what she could see in her peripheral vision, the walls here were a very pale pink instead of grey metal. A whooshing sound came from in front of her and her gurney jerked to a halt as she was parked in a large, domed room. She could still hear the gentle pulsing sound but it seemed farther away.

From the domed ceiling hung blinding lights. If she could blink, she would have. Instead, her eyes watered from the stress. Eventually, tears puddle over and turned cold by the time they reached her ears. The male aliens then lifted her body to a hard surface. Her skin was not completely numbed to temperature, and she could slightly feel the chill of the metal table. They all mumbled conversations to each other as they attached devices to her head. The female alien put an IV in the top of her hand. A smell similar to iodine permeated the air and she felt wetness being applied to her chest and abdomen.

Suddenly, their quiet chatter stopped and the faces in her direct line of vision all seemed drawn to the same thing. Footsteps snapped sharply on the floor and a young man appeared over her. He did not wear a mask and Elena could appreciate how handsome he was. He had a thick, shiny head of hair, dark eyebrows and a finely chiseled face. The delicate skin of his "gills" fluttered gently with each breath he took. He was very calm. His eyes were an ethereal blue—electric. But those eyes looked down at her form with complete disinterest—even disgust. Everyone seemed to wait for this man's order. Elena mused that this must be the doctor.

Someone behind him brought a mask over his face so now it was only his crystal eyes that beamed down on her. He then barked out an order, and everything changed from that moment on. The other aliens came to life and moved in and out of her vision. The doctor spoke again, triggering a metallic purr. The sound grew closer until a clanking object appeared over her head. It came to an abrupt halt and like the ugliest wind chime she had ever seen, Elena watched the surgical instruments clank against each other, mere inches from above her face. The handles of each instrument hung from its own hook on a chain. Some of them were similar to the surgical instruments she was used to. Others she could only formulate a nauseating guess. Another trail of tears dribbled out of the far corners of her eyes, pooling in the folds of her ears. These tears were not from the light. Apparently even numbed, she could still cry.

The handsome alien took what looked like a scalpel from above. An assistant handed him the blade Elena was all too familiar with—a number ten blade, or one closely resembling it anyway. The doctor snapped the blade onto the scalpel and for the first time since he entered the room, he looked into her eyes. He knew she was awake. All she could do was stare back. He didn't look remorseful. Holding the scalpel with practiced ease, the chief confidently went to work. Though she couldn't see, she could immediately smell the copper scent of her own blood. Panic finally set into her brain, but her breathing did not accelerate. Whatever they gave her was remarkable stuff. She only wished she wasn't awake. Because what happened next, she would never forget for as long as she lived.

Elena watched the chief remove a portion of what she knew to be her large intestines. He held the ropes of rosy, wet flesh in his hands as the pretty woman scanned it with some handheld machine. Next, he found her uterus and loosened her ovaries for those to be scanned.

For what seemed like hours, the aliens removed organs, scanned them, and put them back. Whenever she felt weak from blood loss, a beep would ring out and one of the aliens would attach a bag of blood to a pole next to her bed where it would run through her IV. Seconds later, she would be alert again.

Finally, the chief hung up the scalpel. She watched as her blood slid off the edge of the blade and dripped down onto her nose and forehead. They spent what felt like another half hour sewing her up. The chief snapped off his gloves and tossed them over his shoulder. She heard them land with a soft "plop" on the floor. He gave some brisk orders before leaving the room. The remaining aliens went to work pulling the monitors off her. The pretty woman shined a light in her eyes, testing her response. She then took away the light and did something Elena didn't expect. She stared at her. Elena tried to read the woman's face. Was there pity? It was then that her consciousness began to fade. She tried to fight it. Everything in her told her to stay awake. She had come this far. But her world, and the woman's face, turned blurry.

Tom stared at the unattractive ceiling of Sickbay above him, twiddling his fingers that rested over his stomach. It was such a boring ceiling. He remembered the pediatric center his mother would take him to as a boy. They had cartoons playing on big screens on the ceiling above their biobeds. He wondered, amused, what Captain Janeway's expression would be if he suggested such an upgrade to Sickbay.

"_Pauper, pauper, servus et humilis. Panis angelicus. Fit panis hominum; Dat panis coelicus, figuris terminum." _Tom groaned as the melody filled the room. The Doctor strode gracefully out of his office with a pad in front of his face and went to a consol. His forehead was wrinkled and his mouth wide open as he belted out the song.

Tom sat up and scooted to the edge of the biobed, letting his legs dangle beneath. "Doc, it's been 18 hours. What do you say you let me go?"

The Doctor glanced over at Tom with a sour expression, obviously annoyed that his music had been interrupted. Then with an unpleasant air of a schoolteacher correcting a student, the Doctor continued his work at the consol as he replied, "Now Mr. Paris, they wouldn't call it a twenty-four hour sleep study if it only lasted for 18 hours."

Tom hopped off the bed and leaned against the consol across from the hologram. "Doc, I've been sleeping on and off for the better part of a day. I'm awake. I'm wired. I haven't had any more dreams." Tom proceeded to pace as the Doctor watched him carefully, "I need to do something. Run around the holodeck, lift some weights, scrub a conduit, I don't care!"

The Doctor regarded him carefully, then sighed and put down the pad. "Mr. Paris, you may go, but you are to notify me of any changes. You need to take your health seriously…"

Tom was out the door before the hologram could say anything else. Freedom immediately embraced him with a pleasant glow in his belly and he found himself walking briskly in the direction of his quarters. He remembered with glee that today was also his day off, pending any emergencies that is. He noted the curious glances from other crewman. He was still dressed in the ocean-blue patient pajamas and he didn't care. He offered friendly nods to those who passed him, just happy to be free of the confines of Sickbay. He slipped into a turbolift and imagined the cold, fluffy snow that would surround him in mere minutes as he entered his ski program on the holodeck. When he reached his quarter's deck, the doors slid open to reveal the last person he wanted to see at the moment.

Madeline McCormick tucked a crimson hair behind her ear when the turbolift doors opened and the smile on her face dropped so fast Tom might have thought there was a Borg drone behind him. But the venom in her eyes was meant completely for him. Tom cleared his throat and offered his most forgivable smile, even though he was certain it wouldn't work on her.

"Madeline," He stepped off the turbolift and observed her person. Though Starfleet uniforms weren't exactly friendly to the female figure, Tom was certain she ordered hers a size too small, "You're looking beautiful as usual."

Her frown suddenly peaked into a smile—but there was a condescending, "you wish" expression behind it. "Thanks. So, Lieutenant, I hear you've been having bad dreams." Her lower lip pouted in a way Tom remembered during their evening in his bed.

Tom's smile faltered. "Uh—well I've been having trouble sleeping, yeah," He leaned up against a bulkhead, giving her a sultry look that he had practiced many times in front of a mirror, "Gee, Madeline, it's nice to know you still find my bedtime rituals interesting." Tom knew he looked and sounded like a douche, but with a reputation like Madeline's, he was pretty certain it would work on her. Sure enough, her cheeks flushed a bit, momentarily matching her hair color. She crossed her arms and looked down at her toes, that strand of hair falling from behind her ear again.

"I—well, I found out you were having…hallucinations, I guess." She let her eyes trail back up to his and Tom felt like he was in high school again, leaning up against some girl's locker and giving her his best stare-down, "And I kind of feel bad about the other night. It probably wasn't your fault."

Bingo. He had reached the level of forgiveness. He underestimated her weakness. She was puddy in his hands. "Aw, well I'm sorry too," He gently grazed her temple as he guided the strand of her hair back behind her ear. Her eyelashes fluttered from the touch, "No girl wants to be called the wrong name." He wasn't saying anything spectacular. But she looked at him like gold dripped from his words. Suddenly, Tom was looking past her. Down the hallway. The young woman stared back at him. Her face was bruised, her head completely bald. She was clothed in a Starfleet uniform. Blood dripped down from the corner of her lip. Her expression was blank. Just as Tom was about to say something, she turned and he could see the silhouette of a large, pregnant belly beneath her uniform. Then she walked out of sight.

A little laugh escaped from Madeline's throat and it snapped his attention back to her. She sauntered closer to him, so no one passing would hear their words. "You know, that really was an amazing night," She trailed her finger around the middle of his chest. He could feel her well-manicured nail through his thin shirt and it made him shiver, "What do you say, when you recover, we give it another go?"

Tom felt his mouth go dry and his stomach flip-flop in excitement. Who was he kidding? He was puddy in _her_ hands. "I—well you know, I'm all better now." Tom didn't know why he was lying. He should be excusing himself back onto the turbolift and straight into Sickbay. But Madeline was real. And he could feel the warmth of her hand through his shirt.

Madeline's eyebrows hiked up and her eyes danced with thrill. "Oh? You're sure?"

"Yeah, I just spent a day under the Doc's thumb and he cleared me. And," Tom took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles gently, "I have tonight off."

Madeline's polished lips slowly spread into a smile, revealing a row of dazzling white teeth, and she slid her hand out from his, finally backing up into the turbolift. "Well then, tonight, at _my_ place. Nineteen hundred hours."

Tom winked at her and said, "It's a date," right before the lift doors closed.

As soon as the sight of Madeline's face was squeezed out by the doors, Tom sprinted down the hallway, careening into the corridor he had seen the apparition enter. Instead, he careened right into Lieutenant Torres. They met each other with an "oomph," and Tom reached out to keep her from falling. The half-Klingon growled in frustration and wrenched herself away from him.

"Damnit, Paris, watch where the hell you're going!" Torres brushed herself off as Tom caught his breath, "What are you running from anyway?"

Tom gave her an annoyed glance. "I wasn't running _from_ anything. I was _chasing_ someone."

Torres crossed her arms. "Ohh," she replied condescendingly, "You were chasing after one of your imaginary friends?"

Tom rolled his eyes, "Damnit, does the whole _ship_ know about me?"

"It's a small ship, Paris. All it takes is one freak-out on the bridge and a date gone-wrong with a blabbermouth and you've got yourself the reputation as the Rain Man."

It took Tom a second to get her 20th century film reference but once he did, he could feel the blood rush to the tips of his ears. "Well, with the risk of clinching that title, I'm gonna ask if you happened to pass a bald, beat-up pregnant woman in uniform before I ran into you."

Torres looked at him with genuine concern for a moment and she crossed her arms. "Are you serious?"

Tom surveyed the empty corridor behind her. "I—no…no I'm not."

Torres lightly touched his arm, her forehead ridges creasing against her skin in worry. "Tom, don't be afraid to ask for help. If you really think something is wrong, you can tell me."

Tom shook his head before flashing her a grin. "No, Torres, I'm just messing with you. The Doc let me go, I'm fine."

The worry in her face transformed into annoyance and she gave a not-so-gentle shove to his shoulder. She then walked away, tossing a venomous "jackass," behind her. Tom didn't feel the normal boyish giddiness whenever he fooled Torres. Instead, his cocky smile dropped and he stared down the corridor where he knew he had seen a ghost. And she looked an awful lot like the woman he'd been dreaming of.

Thank you for reading :) Encouragement is always welcome.

-sancti


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Elena did not wake slowly or gradually. Her eyes snapped open and she shot straight up, breathing heavily to the point of wheezing. She instantly regretted the sudden movement as every part of her upper body groaned in protest. She felt like—well, as if all her organs had been taken out and put back. The soreness stretched everywhere and she hissed between clenched teeth as she slowly lowered herself back to the cold, hard floor. She then concentrated on getting her breathing back to normal—every time her lungs stretched to make room for air, pain radiated sharply from all her other organs as they pressed against each other. Once she calmed herself down, she carefully crawled to one of the four walls, bringing her torso up to lean against it. She glanced over her body and saw faint, neat white scars along her chest and up to her shoulders in the shape of the classic Y-incision used for autopsies. She couldn't believe it. She gingerly touched the scars, not feeling any pain. Where were the sutures? How could she have scarred already?

Elena sat there for hours. She knew they were hours because the ever-present, pulsating noise came in one-second intervals. She counted until two hours went by. And then she could deny it no longer. She glanced warily in the direction of the toilet. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for. She knew the little hole in the floor wasn't going to magically transform in a fully functional, flushing, porcelain throne. But then, she had been abducted by aliens recently. So anything was possible.

She groaned as she made herself stand up and hobbled over to the little hole in the ground. She pushed the button with her toe and the lid snapped open. Immediately, the smell of sewage rushed into her nostrils and she felt her empty stomach gurgle in revulsion. Elena may have been used to getting dirty working with large animals, but she didn't let anyone mistake her for an "outdoor" girl. She did not go camping, hiking, or participate in any forms of "roughing it." She was forced to occasionally use a porto-potty, but even those had elevated seats and toilet paper. This was just a hole in the floor. Despicable. She spent another five minutes just staring at it until she couldn't take the smell any longer. When she was finished, she hurriedly snapped the lid closed and went to the farthest corner of the room, feeling dirty and ashamed, but at least without a full bladder.

It was not long after this, that she started to feel twitchy. She tried to ignore it, but her muscles spasmed, and she found herself jerking without control. She made herself get up and walk around, which helped alleviate the spasms, but then her body was still sore from the surgery and she sat down again. It was then that it hit her. She was having withdrawal. The night before, when Ian had been enraged, he had forced her to shoot up with him. They had both taken a lot, more than she was used to and the drug lingered in her system for quite some time. Now she was coming off it, and her body wanted more. She had wondered briefly if all of this was some elaborate hallucination brought on by a large dose of ketamine. But now that she was experiencing withdrawal, she knew it was all real.

She huddled herself into a corner, bringing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. More hours drifted on as her withdrawal became worse. Cold sweat seeped through the back of her neck. Her mouth was stark dry. If it were physically possible, she would have licked her neck clean. The cold spread all over her body and her fingertips tingled in that pin-prick feeling one experiences when your foot has fallen asleep. She hugged her legs tighter and whispered encouragement to herself.

"You have to get through this, Elena," she said through clenched teeth, "They have your body. You can't let them have your mind. _Combatterla, Elena. Combaterrla._"

She wasn't sure how long she told herself to fight it. She stopped counting the pulses. Instead, she thought of everything that led her up to this point. What was she doing here? Sure, her life wasn't perfect, but she could imagine worse. Ian didn't beat her up _constantly_. Sure he had gotten her hooked on ketamine, but at least it wasn't something worse, like meth. Ian's brother was addicted to meth. And he turned into the ugliest son-of-a-_puttana_ Elena had ever seen. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she stayed in Italy. If she had never met Ian at that party and let him charm her right into his abusive hands.

She knew what she would be doing. She'd be filling _cannoli _and decorating _torte_ with her papá, the best baker in Salerno. Papá would then introduce her to some handsome fisherman and she would be raising eight, screaming _bambini_ who would all smell like the fish she'd never be able to wash out of her husband's clothes. She could just picture their little seaside home, the smell of saltwater, fish and jasmine carried in with the breeze. _Bambini_ stomping around all over the house and out in the yard and there she was, in her little rustic kitchen, barely able to roll out dough with the hindrance of yet another swollen, pregnant belly. Her clothes covered in flour and bacon grease, and her hair hastily drawn into a bun. Her husband would come in, carrying that dead-fish odor, kiss her on the cheek, and slap a few slimy, gutted fish on her countertop.

She carried this image with her when she announced to her devastated parents that she was moving to the States with Ian and getting a real education and a real job. At the time, these images haunted her. She wanted to be something more than constantly pregnant and stuck in a kitchen—a fate she was certain she'd be doomed to if she didn't leave Salerno. But now—now she would give anything to curl into the arms of her gentle, smelly fisherman of a husband and wake up in the middle of the night to nurse her newest _bambino._ She wished she had listened to her parents telling her she was making a mistake—that she was just a country girl who had no business traveling half a world away with a man she'd only dated for a few months. But then the thought struck her—would it have mattered? Would these aliens have found her in Salerno too? Was she always doomed to be abducted?

Elena pondered all of this as she absentmindedly picked at the injection scabs on her legs. She stopped when she felt warm blood. With a groan, she shoved her arms around her midsection and squeezed herself as a wave of absolute need and want washed over her, leaving her shaking. If only she could have one more hit, which would get her through…what? Tomorrow? Then what? When was tomorrow? Do these aliens even keep time?

Elena buried her head into her knees, pressing her forehead against her kneecap as hard as she could as another wave of cold sweat and shakes came over her. When would it be over? When would her need go away? Would it ever?

A noise interrupted her thoughts. A noise that resembled an ocean wave. It came and disappeared in seconds. She unsteadily lifted her head to see a small, white bowl sitting by the drain in the middle of the room. She stood quickly, wincing from the pain in her torso and stared at the dish. In it, a grey watery substance filled to the bowl's brim. Well where the hell did it come from? Did she fall asleep and someone brought it in? No. That door was so loud it could wake the dead. She went over to the bowl slowly and stared down at it for a moment. She then nudged the edge of the bowl with her toe and watched the grey liquid slosh around like old mop water.

What? Was she supposed to eat that? She got to her knees and sat back on her heels. Gingerly, she lifted the bowl and took a whiff. Her nose scrunched immediately. It smelled like goat. She sighed. She had to be realistic. There were no steak dinners coming her way any time soon. She tipped the bowl into her lips and took a swig. It tasted about the way she imagined. Musty, yet strangely acidic. She forced herself to swallow it and shivered with displeasure as it slithered down her dry throat. Pinching her nose, she forced the rest of it down. She set the bowl down when she had emptied its contents and crawled back to her spot in the corner. Her stomach gurgled in protest for the better part of an hour but her shaking and cold sweats calmed down enough for her to fall asleep.

Tom looked into his bathroom mirror and observed his face at different angles. He was still a handsome devil, but he was starting to notice a bit of…droopedge. He wasn't quite the fresh-faced, young buck that he presented to the ladies while in Starfleet. But certainly thirty-three wasn't…old. If anything he was supposed to get distinguished, right? He sighed and stepped away from the mirror, feeling like a foolish teenage girl. He knew he wasn't only attractive but also charming. Charm was almost everything. He'd seen some fairly homely men able to snag as many girls as they wanted because they had the right charm. However, he couldn't help but wonder if something about him was changing. He'd been on Voyager for just under four years now, and only went out on a date every month or so. During his Starfleet years, he was hitting the bars nightly. He blamed it on the fact that there were only a hundred and sixty-so people on board and only half of them women. He supposed it could also be blamed on the fact that he was an ex-con.

Quickly smoothing over his clothes, Tom then grabbed the bouquet of fresh roses he'd snatched from the hydroponics bay and the small, oblong velvet box containing the jewelry he had replicated, then headed for the door. It was when the doors had whooshed open that Tom heard the giggle. He halted and backed up into his quarters. The noise had come from the bathroom he had just left, he was sure of it. Putting the flowers and jewelry box back on his dinette table, he walked briskly to his bathroom, half expecting to see little Naomi Wildman hiding there even though it would be impossible.

"Lights," he murmured and the room became illuminated. And it was empty, except for something fuzzy on his shower mat. Tom noticed it and squatted to pick it up. It felt warm in his hand. He turned it over. It was a stuffed sheep. A toy.

"Where the hell did you come from," Tom mumbled as he stared down at the toy ovine. It's faux, black plastic eyes stared back at him. It creeped him out. Naomi must have found her way into his quarters while he was in Sickbay. He didn't want to know how he missed noticing the thing the entire time he was getting ready. He exited the bathroom and tossed the stuffed sheep onto his bed. He didn't want to be late for his evening with the lovely Madeline.

Tom put the incident out of his mind completely once he laid eyes on his date. She was dressed in a deep red, strapless dress and it flowed enticingly as she stepped aside to let him into her quarters. Her hair was down, and in shiny waves. She looked a lot classier than when they were on their first date. Before, Tom almost couldn't tell where her legs ended and her dress began. Tom was dressed a bit simpler in dress-slacks and a dark blue button up shirt that he decided to tuck in, but left the top couple buttons undone. He had a feeling Madeline would very much enjoy tearing it off him. Sure enough, he watched her bite her lip appreciatively before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. The memories of their night together came flooding back with the touch of her soft lips and he fought hard to contain himself from sweeping her into his arms and carrying her straight to bed. Perhaps sensing his battle, she only gave him a little taste and then slid her arms away. He was finally able to present the flowers and jewelry box and she gave a little squeal of delight as she took them.

"You look great, Tom," She then glanced down at her dress, "You like it?"

Tom smirked as he pressed his hands on her hips, pleased with the soft material of her dress. "It's beautiful," He then gave her a knowing look, "You didn't spend another two weeks of replicator rations on it, did you?"

She playfully slapped his shoulder. "No, no. I already had it in my closet."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "You left Earth and brought a formal gown with you on a one-week recovery mission?"

She giggled as she headed to her little kitchenette to put the flowers in a vase. Tom was impressed with her quarters. To start with a boring, grey room and turn it into a classy, feminine area was something Madeline was obviously talented at. Her bed sat in the farthest corner, looking very inviting with its multitude of satiny pillows. She even had thin, pretty red curtains adorning her windows that looked into nothing but black space. Somewhere, smooth jazz played, completely setting the mood. "No, silly. I replicated it for a date with someone else two years ago."

Tom mocked getting hit in the chest and covered his heart with his hand. "Ouch, Madeline. You mean you've already seduced one man with that thing?"

She grinned as she poured their drinks into cocktail glasses and motioned to the couch to sit. "Oh please, Tom. I've seduced _three_ men with this thing."

Tom laughed as he took his glass, stretching his arm over the back of the couch as Madeline snuggled in next to him. "Well then why didn't you wear it on our first date?"

Her smile faltered and she took a sip from her cocktail. "I thought you were special."

Tom's smile fell too and he raised his eyebrows before looking down at his own glass, suddenly finding the bobbing peel of lime very interesting. "Yeah, I deserved that."

Madeline patted his knee. "Oh, Tom, don't worry about it. It wasn't your fault. So, what did the Doctor say was wrong with you anyway?"

Tom had to fight from choking on his drink. His mind worked quickly as he formulated a lie. "Oh, uh, well it turns out I was working too much, not getting enough sleep. And, well, sleep-deprivation can make a person a bit loony."

Madeline frowned as she rested her chin on her hand. "Sleep deprivation? What have you been working so hard on?"

He took another swig of his drink. "Modifications on the Delta Flyer. The helm hasn't been working right and it needs some general upgrades. The Captain wants all her shuttles in tip-top shape, you know how she is."

Madeline nodded. "I suppose so," Suddenly a chime came from her kitchen, "Oh!" She exclaimed. She rested her drink on the coffee table before them, then headed straight for her oven. Tom wondered how she got the clearance to have kitchen appliances in her quarters.

He then sniffed the air, a pleasant aroma making him salivate. "Hey, that smells great, what's cooking?"

Madeline dragged a large pot out of the oven, placing it on the counter and removing its lid. Her eyes widened in pleasure as she poked at its contents with a fork and then put a finger in the pot. "Perfect," She said as she sucked juice from her finger, "I made pot roast. You're hungry, right?"

Tom groaned. "Watch it, Madeline, I might have to marry you."

She grinned as she pulled away the tender meat and ladled carrots, potatoes and onions onto two plates. She carried them to the dinette table and Tom headed for the cocktail shaker to refresh their drinks. He then joined her at the table and raised his glass. She giggled as she raised hers.

"What are we toasting to?"

Tom smiled his most forgivable smile. "To new beginnings, and…a clearer mind."

Madeline gave him a knowing look as they clinked glasses. The meal was excellent and Tom had to keep his manners in check. He hadn't tasted anything this good since, well, since his own mother cooked for him. Neelix simply wasn't up to par with his mother's home cooking. He then gestured to the kitchenette.

"So," Tom said after swallowing a juicy piece of meat, "how did you get clearance to have so many appliances in your quarters?"

Madeline dabbed at her lips with her napkin and smiled coyly. "The Captain said I could have them as long as I gave her a break from Neelix's cooking once a week. It's a pretty good deal. I make most of my own meals when I can get the right ingredients."

Tom was impressed and he toasted her again with his mostly empty glass. "Madeline, if you weren't already so pretty, you could have any man you wanted with this kind of cooking."

She blushed as she delicately took a piece of carrot from her fork. "My mother was counting on that every time she dragged me into the kitchen for a lesson."

Their chitchat went on like this until she announced it was time for dessert. Tom couldn't agree more. As Madeline stood over a pie, cutting neat little slices, Tom came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. She melted into him. She set down the knife and turned around, lacing her arms around his neck. He brought her closer to him and leaned in for a kiss. Her finger suddenly went to his lips, halting his approach. She glanced up at him through thick eyelashes and bit her lip.

"What's my name, Tom?"

He smiled behind her finger. "Madeline. Madeline McCormick." He pushed her hand away and kissed her deep. When they came up for air, she slid her hands over his chest.

"Again." She whispered.

He trailed his lips from her earlobe down her neck, loving how she leaned her head back to give him more skin. "Madeline," He growled as he nibbled her skin. She grinned and then squeaked when he picked her up and sat her on the counter, pulling the hem of her dress up around her hips so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He kissed along the creamy white skin of her collarbone, his hands gripping her thighs. She moaned, running her fingers through Tom's hair, her nails raking across his scalp. That was it. Tom picked her up, her legs tightening around his waist for the short ride over to the bed. He dropped her onto the soft pillows, climbing on top as she went to work on the buttons of his shirt.

"Lights, low," She ordered the computer as Tom quickly found the zipper on the back of her dress. He released her from the confines of the gown she had seduced so many men in. She pushed on his chest and whispered feverishly into his ear.

"_I_ want to be on top this time, Lieutenant." She didn't need to ask twice and Tom rolled her over to straddle him. She worked the rest of her dress off, then kissed his chest, scraping her teeth over his skin as she trailed her kisses lower and lower. Tom pressed his head back into the pillows, enjoying her ministrations.

Then he felt it. Eyes on them. Judging them. Tom's eyes snapped open and he whipped his head up from the pillow. The lights were so dim, he almost didn't see her. But as his eyes adjusted, he saw an outline at the foot of the bed.

"Jesus." Tom gasped and tossed Madeline off him. She yelped as she landed on the soft pillows and Tom leapt from the bed, hands in fists ready for a fight.

"Computer, lights!" The brightness caused them both to squint their eyes. Tom breathed heavily, staring at the now empty spot where the figure at the end of the bed had been. Madeline was covering herself with her dress and looking frantically about the room.

"What?" She practically screamed, "What the hell is it, Tom?"

Tom had to tell his feet to move and he quickly investigated the quarters. "Computer, who is in this room?" He demanded as he stalked into the bathroom, the lights coming on immediately.

The cool, clipped voice responded, "Lieutenant Paris and Crewman McCormick." The bathroom was empty.

Tom ran a hand through his hair, looking briefly at his hand afterwards and noticing his fingers were shaking. "Who was in here in the last five minutes?"

"Lieutenant Paris and Crewman McCormick."

Tom stood in the middle of Madeline's quarters, breathing heavily and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he closed it. His eyes flickered to the woman on the bed, with her knees bent and sitting back on her ankles, clutching that damn red dress to her naked body. He didn't want to see the expression on her face.

"Tom." Her tone was surprisingly calm. He didn't look at her as he tucked his shirt back into his slacks, "Tom, do you want to talk about what just happened?"

He let out a disgusted scoff. "No, Madeline, I don't."

A hand was then gently on his shoulder. His body shook and he turned to see Madeline, looking up at him with concern. "It's not sleep deprivation, is it, Tom?"

He shook her hand off him, then gave the room one more visual sweep. "I'm sorry, Madeline."

He was out her door, barely registering her pleas for him to come back, and stalking down the corridor toward no particular destination. It wasn't very late. Crewmembers were still out and about. Most acknowledged him as they passed, some were too busy with their noses in a pad. Tom kept his head down. He didn't want to see her again. Her pale skin stained with blood and puffy bruises around her lifeless, ageless eyes. He knew it was her in the room. He may not have seen her face, but he felt her presence. And it scared the hell out of him.

Tom stopped to see where he was. He had been aware that he'd gotten onto the turbolift with someone, and exited it with them. Now he found himself outside the mess hall. A stiff drink suddenly sounded like a wonderful idea. He entered to find the room sparsely populated. He headed straight for the counter where Neelix was beyond view, but could clearly be heard humming amongst the clang of pots and pans. Tom crossed his arms on the high counter.

"Neelix!"

The humming stopped and the Talaxian poked his head out from around the corner. His expression conveyed acknowledgement with a pointed-teeth smile and then pained sympathy. "Ohh, Tom, I'm afraid I've put dinner away. Would you care for a Barillean steak sandwich?"

Tom shook his head warily. "No, Neelix, thanks. Actually I was wondering if you had anything in the way of spirits?"

Neelix emerged fully from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a stained towel. He conjured up a knowing smirk. "Need a little something to sleep easier, eh, Lieutenant?"

Tom offered a bleak smile. "Just nursing an old habit I was forced to give up at the penal colony."

Neelix reached under the counter and came back with two scotch glasses. "Out of curiosity, Tom, how long were you imprisoned?"

The question was one nobody really asked him. It seemed any time he mentioned his "big house" days, people became uncomfortable and changed the subject. Either they were afraid it would be painful for him to talk about, or far too awkward for them. Tom didn't mind discussing it. It was far from a traumatic experience. He was held in minimum security, with the money embezzlers, frauds and other morally questionable nerds. He had only been a member of the Maquis for a few weeks and had been caught on his first mission; hardly a violent threat.

"Six years, Neelix. Six long, boring years I'll never get back." The Talaxian had disappeared from sight, rummaging around in the kitchen. Finally, Tom heard the clink of a sturdy glass decanter. Such a familiar and comforting sound that reminded him of the days he frequented Sandrine's. Swallowing back nostalgia, Tom held out his glass as Neelix poured a delectable ocher colored liquid into it. It smelled wonderful. He swirled it around the glass, watching with interest the minute color changes when it hit the light.

Neelix poured about half as much into his glass, mimicking Tom as he gently moved the glass in circles. "That's a long time to be stuck in one place, that's for sure. I've never been in jail for that long."

Tom's highbrows hiked up. "_You've_ been in jail?"

Neelix took a sip from his glass, closing his eyes in satisfaction as he swallowed. "Oh, sure. Being in the trade business had its share of tricky situations that often landed me in a prison. I was usually never held for more than a few weeks though. Longest stay was a month. Was always able to talk and bargain my way out of it."

Tom nodded, amused by the fact that the often goofy, naïve little Talaxian had to rough it in jail a few times. "I'm surprised, Neelix," He then raised his glass in a toast, "From one ex-con to another, here's to freedom."

Neelix grinned and they clinked glasses. "I can certainly drink to that."

Tom took a healthy sip of the scotch and was surprised by the intense flavor that followed. It was just what he needed to try and forget the disastrous evening. Neelix then motioned to him.

"Nice clothes, Lieutenant. Did you have a date?"

Tom sighed, feeling a surge of embarrassment boil in his stomach. "Sort of. Didn't end well," He took another sip, "Neelix, do you believe in ghosts?"

The Talaxian seemed taken off guard and he put down his glass, squinting at Tom. "Ghosts?"

Tom tapped the side of his glass with a finger. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea. In truth, Tom had been thinking it was all in his head. But the doctor could never find anything besides a few heightened brain chemicals. Although the paranormal seemed the least likely possibility, Tom was ready to accept anything at this point. A freaking bloody, pregnant woman was staring at him while he was trying to have perfectly normal sex. That wasn't acceptable.

"Yeah. I—well, the Doc has checked me out and he can't find anything," He then unleashed everything, "But I keep seeing this woman, she's in real bad shape all beat up and bald for some reason and really pregnant. She keeps appearing and then disappearing. Never says anything, just stares at me." He gauged Neelix's face for a reaction and found an unexpected expression. The Talaxian seemed to actually be considering his words.

Neelix drained the rest of his scotch before answering, smacking his lips to get all that remained. Tom suspected this bottle of scotch was neither cheap nor common. It sure didn't taste like it and he sipped it to make it last longer. "Well—the good Doctor probably wouldn't want me encouraging you, but I don't want to lie. I wouldn't call myself superstitious, but I do believe there is a life beyond this one, and well, I think sometimes people get stuck between this world and the uh, well, the next." Neelix was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, "But, Tom, if you're seeing this woman, you should really be telling the Doctor, not me."

Tom nodded and tipped back his glass, draining the remainder of the scotch. "Thanks, Neelix, for the drink and the advice. Have a good night." The disappointment on Neelix's face was evident but Tom gave him a friendly smile that he hoped would convince the Talaxian that he meant his words. He then headed for the door, looking forward to burying his face in a pillow and sleeping a dreamless slumber.

When Tom reached his quarters, he tapped in the entry code with heavy fingers. The drink had helped him calm down—almost a little too much. God knew what kind of effect the alien scotch would have on him. Tom retyped the code that he put in wrong the first time. His fingers fumbled over the key-screen and he cursed. He felt like he'd gone on an all-night bender. Finally the computer chirped and the doors breezed open.

"Lights—ow, damnit, low! Low lights!" Tom squinted until the computer complied and the lighting dimmed. The doors closed behind him which made the room a touch darker. He sat down heavily on the bed and carefully bent over to remove his shoes. The movement made him dizzy and he groaned, lying back on the bed. He felt something digging into his back and he reached around to snatch it. He brought the object to his face and grimaced when he realized it was the sheep he'd found on his bathroom floor. It still stared at him with its lifeless doll eyes and crooked smile.

"I guess Naomi doesn't like you very much, eh? Otherwise you wouldn't be here." Tom sat up and poised the sheep above his head with one hand, then made a mock free throw into the trash receptacle across the room. The stuffed animal bounced on the rim before landing inside.

"And the crowd goes wild," Tom muttered before leaning over to finished removing his shoes.

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

That sound. That continuous pulsing. Sometimes Elena imagined that it was akin to being in the womb, and hearing the constant, comforting beat of mother's heart. But instead of snuggling up to a warm, soft uterus, Elena crunched herself into one of the four corners of the room, her arms wrapped around her knees and her chin nestled into her chest. And the only comfort was the pulse.

_Like mother's heartbeat._ Elena considered the words. Her own mother was like a stranger to her. Elena was the fifth of eleven children and the second girl. She was always lost in the shuffle of children, most of whom were boys. Her entire life up to adulthood, all Elena could remember was her mother carrying a baby or nursing a baby or being pregnant—sometimes all at the same time. In other words, Elena didn't have any memory of her mother lending any life lessons to her.

It was only after her older sister married and when her father started to bring around young men for dinner (potential suitors) that her mother seemed to realize she existed. Then she couldn't get the woman off her back. Always fussing with her hair and clothes and criticizing her posture. Elena's resentment for the woman grew daily, and she could not have been happier to see the astonished look on her face when she announced her future plans. Now, she desperately wished she knew what it was like to curl up in her mother's arms. She knew that her mother would have coddled her at some time in her life, when she was an infant all the way up to when she would've been weaned. And that seemed to be the limit of her memory. For as long as she could remember, she'd always taken care of herself. Mother was too busy with a new little one or marrying off an older one to help her dress in the morning or get to school on time.

Elena sat there, clinging to herself as she imagined the faces of her parents and siblings. She hadn't spoken to any of them for several weeks. Did they know she was gone? Would they even care? She was the black sheep of the family. The outcast who dared to leave and defy her destiny. And where had it gotten her? She was regularly used as a punching bag and an addict. Oh, and abducted by aliens.

Elena smoothed her hands over her bare scalp. It was such a strange sensation to have a bald head, where thick hair had once been. Hair that she had fussed over every day to maintain control over it. She looked up and almost laughed at her blurry reflection and the pink, shiny head that stared back at her. Her hands slipped down over her face and felt the slight ridges where her eyebrows had been. She frowned as she felt the nakedness of her eyelids, her thick, beautiful eyelashes gone. What had they done to her?

Over the days (or what felt like days, she had been observing the healing progress of a cut on her arm she had received the day of the abduction), all the hair on her body had fallen off. When she observed her reflection in the metal walls, she was immediately reminded of a time when a farmer's young daughter had brought a cardboard box to the animal clinic. Inside were abandoned newborn opossums. They were pink, hairless little things, skin so thin they looked like they would split open just from crawling around. They were severely dehydrated and even with subcutaneous fluids, they knew there wasn't much hope for them. The little girl was devastated. Elena couldn't help but think good riddance. They were the most disgusting things she had ever seen. But looking at herself now, she thought she looked exactly like one of those pink, hairless, defenseless little babies. Now she would've done anything to save them. She would give anything to hug her mother. To punch Ian in the throat the first time he hurt her. To have said no to that first hit of ketamine. True, changing her actions may not have prevented her from ending up here, but at least she wouldn't have had a lifetime of bad decisions to look back on.

Suddenly feeling the pull of sleep, Elena unwrapped herself and laid down flat on her back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her heavy eyelids fluttered against the urge of sleep. As much as she wanted to escape this place in the bliss of slumber, fear was keeping her awake. Digging into her memory, Elena recalled a moment observing her mother in the kitchen, humming some folk tune as she kneaded dough for bread. She could smell the flour, watching little plumes puff into the air as she slapped the dough. Engulfed by warm memories, she let the tender arms of sleep wrap around her. It would be short-lived.

The grinding of metal shook her awake. Instinctively, she scurried to the farthest corner of her room. Bright, manufactured light encompassed the room and she saw her skin glowing a sickly tinge of pinkish-grey. Four figures entered the light and again, she couldn't make out their faces at first. Two men came forward and their features cleared. Elena recognized one of them from the surgery room. Her stomach knotted. Were they going to slice into her like a fifth grade dissection experiment again?

She whimpered as they closed in. She waited for the blast of their weapons to paralyze her. Instead, they grabbed hold of each of her arms and hoisted her off the floor with little effort. They drew her arms behind her back, folding them and used something to bind them. The pain was immediate and she let out a cry at the strain against her muscles. They yanked her forward to join the other two. For the first time, she was able to see the corridor clearly. It was long and the walls were off-white in color, the floor covered in a tightly-woven grey carpet that felt like sandpaper to her bare feet. There were cell doors, just like hers, along the entire hall. No sound came from any of them.

Elena felt the sting of her nakedness as they prodded her down the corridor. Her body was just like their's. But a quick look at their faces told her they didn't give a damn about her body. They stared straight ahead, the grip on her upper arms like steel clamps. They reached what Elena assumed was some kind of elevator and entered it. She recognized the same kind of language script from the tattoo on her back stamped just as neatly above the controls for the elevator. One of the aliens in front of her worked the controls and she felt the subtle movement of descent. They reached their floor by indication of a beep and exited. This floor was different. The walls were dark grey bulkheads and the floor a shiny black tile. Her feet padded quietly along against the clack of the aliens' shoes. Finally they reached a door that opened swiftly. Without a word, they tossed her inside.

Elena fell to her knees, lost balance and toppled over, her chin making contact with the hard surface of the floor. The tile in here was also black, but the walls were strange. They were a charcoal color and seemed to be made out of some kind of foam, like one might find in a carefully packed delivery box. Elena used all her strength to get to her feet, her tightly bound arms giving her trouble. Her chin ached from the collision with the floor and she longed to massage the pain away. The room wasn't very big, even a little smaller than her cell. Elena backed up to lean against the soft wall. She sighed in pleasure. She hadn't pressed against anything soft in what seemed years. What was this? An upgrade? Her answer arrived quickly.

Without warning, a sound emanated from the walls that pierced Elena's eardrum with such pressure that she flung herself to the floor. If she didn't know any better, she would've thought she had been standing next to a tree that had been struck by lightning. The lights in the ceiling then brightened to a degree that even if she shut her eyes, it was like pulling a sheet down over a strobe light. The noise transformed into a piercing high pitch that made her feel like a dog tortured by a whistle. The light flickered on and off rapidly like some horror-show discotech.

Bending over, she pressed one ear to the floor in a desperate attempt to block out the noise. She wanted nothing more than to plunge her fingers into her ears as she strained against the straps that only dug into her skin the harder she tried. She squeezed her eyes shut against the obnoxious bright light and could only scream to relieve the pain of the noise and light.

Elena wasn't sure how long she had laid there passed out. When she came to, she was being led down the hallway, the skin of her knees burning from being dragged across the rough carpet. Her bald head bobbed lifelessly as she looked down at her body, the two male aliens using just one arm each to haul her along. She felt like she had just gotten off an airplane, her ears were clogged and ringing. Spots appeared in her vision every time she closed her eyes. She groaned, the noise sounding far away and the aliens carrying her accelerated their pace. Why the hell did they do that to her? Just to experiment with how much she could handle? Too groggy to think on it, Elena just let her head drop with another groan. A few minutes later they reached her cell. The large door opened noisily as usual. Removing her shackles first, they then tossed her inside. Before the hatch closed, Elena heard them talking in their language followed by a laugh.

Her skin pimpled as a wave of chills flowed through her body. Elena assumed the fetal position, hugging her knees to her bruised chin. After a while, the ringing subsided in her ears and one popped open to allow her to hear the comforting, quiet pulse. It was then that she heard a sharp squeaking sound that reminded her of a valve releasing. And then the pipes above her suddenly opened up. Freezing water sprayed down from the ceiling and stung her already cold skin. She tried to scream, but her vocal chords were spent. She shot up from the floor and tried to head to a corner of the room where surely the spraying water wasn't quite as heavy. She slipped on the hard metal surface and fell. Scrambling on the icy surface, she made it to a corner and hugged her body to herself. The amount of water pelting her was nominally less, but the difference was noticeable. And that was all that mattered.

The freezing water eventually numbed her skin and she sat there shaking when another squeaking pipe noise cut through the air and the water stopped. Remnants dripped down and hit her skin, but she couldn't feel it. She watching the remaining water slither across the floor to the drain in the middle of the room and listened to the hollow noise of the water trickling down the pipe. Elena didn't care to know if she was alive or dead anymore. This was Hell. Living or dead, she was in hell.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Elena picked at the scab on her arm that she had made a few days ago with her fingernails. The dry, uneven strip of skin peeled away easily. A couple drops of blood bubbled out. Elena watched, fascinated at the bright, passionate color against her dull, grey skin. It was the highlight of her days lately. Creating the cut with her nail was the most exciting part though. She carefully monitored the healing process of her self-inflicted wounds in order to track the days. Picking at the leftover scabs was merely a form of entertainment. She didn't much care about the scars left behind. The problem was finding new places for her cuts. She had destroyed the skin on both her arms and was now working on her thighs.

The aliens hadn't taken her out to play in several days. One female, the one that had assisted with the first experiment, had come to her cell and did something of an exam on her. Elena had been rather shocked by the woman's attention. Not a word had been exchanged between them. The woman applied a soothing, bright blue cream to her scabs. It made her skin feel cold and tingly. The whole time she treated her, they both remained silent. Elena dared not look her in the eye. She couldn't bear to see that sympathy. If she felt so bad, why was it her job to help rip people apart?

The cream was nice, but defeated the purpose of her cuts. Their healing time sped up and made her lose track of her days. Elena was afraid the woman would come back to keep treating her but she never did. In fact, no one came. It would be two weeks before Elena would see anyone. She spent most of it sleeping, or mutilating herself, or what she was doing now—picking mercilessly at old scabs.

It was that day when a life-altering event would take place. It was that day she would meet another prisoner.

The door to her cell came to life. As usual, Elena would scurry to her corner, awaiting the pain of their stun guns. The bright light hit, and the figures were featureless against it. Elena gasped. There were so many. Probably eight or more of the aliens. But they didn't have their little stun guns. These were some sort of rifles. Dread filled her belly. Was this the end of her? The aliens were all talking, some shouting in anxious, nervous tones. But they weren't training their weapons on her. All the rifles were pointed at the figure in the middle of the crowd who was struggling against the two tallest, thickest aliens Elena had seen yet. Elena watched with her mouth open as the aliens shouted and argued with each other and the figure in the middle acted like a tiger caught in a net. The noises from his throat were other-worldly and the veins on his body erupted against his shining, sweaty skin as he strained against the aliens. And they were bringing this thing closer to _her_.

Elena stood, ready to perhaps defend herself against this animal. Her movement triggered one of the aliens to point his rifle at her. She put up her hands quickly to show she had no intent to cause an issue. Then in five seconds, everything changed. One of the aliens took the butt of his rifle and smashed it onto the head of the prisoner. He went down quickly and took the two big guys down with him. They all collapsed in a heap in the middle of her cell. The alien who had hit the prisoner was shoved by another alien and yelled at. They continued to argue as the big guys clambered off the floor. They undid the prisoner's restraints as quickly as they could and then all the guards slowly backed out of her cell, their guns still trained on the motionless figure on the floor. Elena could hear the two aliens arguing with one another as her cell door finally closed, blocking out all noise except of course for the constant pulsing.

The silence was overwhelming at first after all the noise and activity. Elena turned her gaze to the man splayed out on her floor. He wasn't moving but she could hear short, shallow breaths. On the back of his bald head, Elena could see a nasty gash and blood trickled down onto the floor. She wasn't sure what to do. She studied him from her corner, taking in the details. He was nude, like her, and Elena almost felt bad for studying his body. But she figured if he ever came to, he wouldn't turn a blind eye to her nakedness. He had fallen face-down, and his face was turned away from her. But she admired his well-muscled, broad shoulders and strong back. On his right shoulder blade, she could see the neat alien script of his tattoo. Very similar to hers. His backside was well-formed and tight. Elena blushed and even though she was curious, her shyness got the better of her and she avoided staring. She took in the sight of his legs and arms—also muscular and nicely toned, but not freakish like some body-builder.

Still, he could've given Ian a run for his money. And obviously he gave the aliens enough of a hard time to warrant an eight-man escort. Elena brought her attention back to the wound on his head. It really did need some care. But what could she do besides put pressure on it? She hadn't a strip of cloth to soak up the blood or stave off the bleeding. Not to mention she had absolutely no idea how he would behave when, or if, he woke up. She already knew the aliens were afraid of him. But maybe that was a good thing. If she had the strength and bravery to fight them, she would. But she couldn't get the image out of her head of this man so much like a beast. So inhuman.

Elena absent-mindedly picked at a scab on her arm as she inched closer to him. As she neared, she crouched down, her fingertips grazing the floor as she circled around to where she could get a better look at the wound. She gingerly extended a hand, her fingers just inches away. The next few seconds were a blur. Without warning, the man shot up, grabbing her wrist. Elena screamed, wrenching away her hand, shocked that she even could, and pressed herself into the corner, breathing hard. The man stood there in the middle of the cell. At first, he didn't even seem to register her presence. He turned around in circles, sliding his hands along each wall, paying special attention to the cell door. He gave the door one swift whack, making Elena jump, and he muttered a "damn it," before finally turning around and taking notice of her.

They stared at each other for a good minute. The man standing there breathing heavily, and Elena pressed against the farthest corner. For the first time in weeks, she felt the creeping anxiety of embarrassment and self-consciousness and she folded her arms over her chest, crossing her legs as demurely as she could. The man didn't seem to care about his own nakedness and made no movement to cover his manhood. Elena made a point not to stare. The man studied her face, his eyes eventually roaming to her neck where his gaze settled.

"You're human." The sound that came from him was not threatening, and he hadn't moved an inch, yet Elena could not stop herself from being startled and her body visibly gave a start. It really couldn't be helped. The only interaction she'd had since she arrived had been with people who wanted to torture her. He seemed to understand and slowly raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

"It's okay, hon, I'm not gonna hurt you." Elena wasn't sure she could believe that. She knew nothing about him beyond that he was capable of brutal strength and rage—two characteristics she was well familiar with from her time with Ian. Elena remained pressed against the wall. She wanted to say something back, but her mouth went dry. She felt stupid. She had been attempting to get anyone's attention for weeks. Now that she had the chance, she could find no words.

The man's brow creased and he sighed. "Do you, um, speak English?"

Elena took in the sight of his blue eyes. They were gorgeous. The shade of blue one finds in the hottest part of a flame. She then realized he had asked her a question. She nodded slowly in response. His blue eyes sparkled a bit in excitement and Elena found herself enchanted. The man smiled. Elena could've stared at that smile forever and gleefully forget she was trapped by aliens.

"Good, now we're getting somewhere. What's your name?"

Her mouth dried out again. She gathered as much moisture as she could and swallowed to coat her throat. "E-Elena," she croaked out.

He gave her another winning smile. "That's a pretty name you have there." His smile suddenly faltered and he squeezed his eyes shut. His hand went to the wound on his head. He hissed through his teeth at the contact.

"Damn bastard clocked me good."

Elena had the instinct to move to help him but she stayed put. He was still a stranger and she was quite vulnerable. But at this point, what did she have to lose? Her life? She wasn't living anyway. Elena slowly extricated herself from the corner. Keeping her arms tightly folded over her chest, she took a few steps towards the man.

"May I look?" She barely whispered the words but he brought his hand away from the wound and nodded. He was a good foot taller than her, so she motioned to the floor for him to sit, doing her best to continue covering herself. The man got to his knees and Elena circled around him to do her inspection. She carefully touched the gash and she could see him tense from the pain.

"So," He said a little breathily through the discomfort, "what are you, a doctor? Nurse?"

He panted a little, trying to distract himself. Elena pressed a finger into the gash to determine its depth. Without anything to soak up the blood, this was the only way to determine the severity of the wound. The man let out a small gasp from her probing.

"I'm sorry," She murmured, "I was sort of a nurse. I worked on animals. Cats, dogs, cows, that sort of thing."

He laughed a little. "Heh, well, I guess a cut on the head is the same for any animal, right?"

Elena smiled a little smile he couldn't see and she wished he had. It was the first time she'd done it in weeks.

"Sure," she answered softly. She wiped the drying blood on her hands on the floor by the drain. The man sat back on his heels.

"So, Doc, am I gonna pull through?" Elena circled back into his view then backed into her corner.

"The wound isn't deep. It will bleed a lot because of all the blood vessels in your head. Try to keep a hand on it for pressure."

The man nodded and positioned himself against the opposite wall. Elena was a bit relieved to have him further away.

"Thank you, Elena." He leaned his head softly against the wall and shut his eyes, "I am gonna have one hell of a headache tomorrow."

Elena absently picked at a scab on her wrist. She should keep him awake. If he received a concussion, sleeping right away could slip him into a coma.

"Um, what's your name?"

The man slid open one eyelid and smirked. "Well I guess it's only fair, you told me yours." He gave a little salute with two fingers, "Lieutenant Dean Paris."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv 

"And lastly, Captain, it pains me to report a startling percentage of the crew have been failing to appear for their monthly physicals." The Doctor finally sat down after using twenty minutes of the briefing to complain. Captain Janeway listened without interrupting from her seat at the head of the conference room table. Her expression betrayed her emotion though as she looked like she had been sucking on something sour. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at the Doctor.

"If you could manage to condense that into a short," She paused, looking for the right word, "article, Doctor, I'll make sure everyone gets a copy."

The Doctor opened his mouth to respond but B'Elanna beat him to it.

"Captain, if I could go next, there are some Engineering issues." All the officers at the table seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. All except the Doctor who Tom Paris silently mused looked like he could use a lolly pop.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

B'Elanna stood, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Captain, I'm afraid we are in a bit of a bind. Our dilitheum reserves are depleting fast. Not only are we running low, but the warp core isn't using them as efficiently as it should. It would be easier to work on the core if it was off—conveniently if we were docked at a station of course. I know Neelix has us going to a friendly place for our restocking of supplies, but at this rate, we won't make it there before we are stuck on impulse drive only."

The Captain blinked in surprise, but remained calm, as she always did. Over the years though, Tom was able to recognize Janeway's tics. She was currently gripping the handle of her coffee cup with enough force to make the thin, delicate veins in her hand pop up like tense wire. This was the last thing she wanted to hear.

"What do you suggest, B'Elanna?" Her voice didn't betray her. It never did. As calm and clipped as usual.

The young Chief Engineer sighed. "Well, you're not going to like it, Captain." B'Elanna moved to the viewscreen on the other side of the room and brought up the details of a planet as blue and pretty as Earth. Tom's gaze flickered to Harry and he could see the pained expression on his face. God, that kid wanted to go home. Sometimes Tom thought he was more eager than anyone else on this ship. B'Elanna's voice brought his attention back to her.

"It's an M-Class planet, obviously. Long-range scans indicate they're a warp-capable civilization. And I would bet my rations their main resource is dilitheum. The subsurface is filled with it. Only problem is, their location is completely off our course home. And even shooting for this planet, the last few days of the journey will be on impulse. But we just won't make it to your planet, Neelix."

The Talaxian was studying the screen with surprising intensity, his mottled chin resting on his equally spotted fist, and his brow furrowed so tightly, Tom thought his hedge-hog mohawk might come undone. Commander Tuvok must have noticed and regarded the Talaxian with a look one might consider concern, if possible.

"Mr. Neelix, are you quite alright?"

Neelix gave a little jump in his chair. "Oh, yes, thank you, Mr. Vulcan. I just—I don't think I've ever come upon this planet. Yet it seems so familiar." His body then jolted and realization spread across his mottled features, "I've got it. It must be Nimruse. Never been there myself but it has a reputation for being quite the trade depot. I didn't realize we were so close to it, if it's the right planet, of course. Popular in these parts of the quadrant."

Tom felt every muscle in his body tense. Nimruse. The very name made his blood chill. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck and sound was muted, like someone had plunged his head under water. And he had no idea why. But he could still see. And currently everyone was looking at him. His senses returned in time to hear his name being called impatiently.

"Lieutenant _Paris_." Tom turned to the Captain's voice to see her standing, palms fixed firmly on the table and her torso leaning towards him. Her expression was full of concern. Tom saw the Doctor getting out of his chair and the pilot put up a hand and shook his head to stop him. Tom cleared his throat and straightened the top half of his uniform.

"I'm sorry, Captain," He then gestured to the viewscreen, which still had a perfect picture of Nimruse, "The place looked so much like Earth I guess it took me away for a minute there."

Janeway didn't look like she was quite buying it and the Doctor had a medical tricorder out and looked like he was just itching to use it. Janeway gestured to B'Elanna who was also regarding Tom with concern in her ridged forehead.

"Go over the details with B'Elanna and set a course for the planet," Janeway straightened up from the table and crossed her arms, "That'll be all, everyone, dismissed."

The officers filed out of the room, murmuring quietly to each other. Tom fell in line behind them, but the Captain's voice made him stop. "Tom, take a seat." B'Elanna nudged him on her way out. "I'll meet you at the con."

Sighing, Tom slipped into the seat closest to him, where the Doctor had been. Janeway circled around the table to him and rested her crossed hands on the headrest of a chair. For a moment, she looked at him in such a way that reminded Tom of his mother trying to figure him out. He squirmed a bit under her scrutinizing gaze.

"Tom, I'm not going to pretend I haven't noticed your odd behavior lately," He felt a twitch of embarrassment. Actually, he'd rather she pretended, "The Doctor tells me you've been having…hallucinations? Correct?"

Tom bit the inside of his cheek until it hurt. "It's, uh—I've had trouble sleeping, Captain."

The Captain eyed him like she was going to call him out on his lie, then her whole body seemed to deflate just a little. She didn't have the fight in her for this one. "Trouble sleeping. Yes, I suppose everyone on this ship works a bit too much. It's a wonder everyone isn't hallucinating every once and a while." Tom didn't think she was making fun of him, but he did catch a twinkle in her eye. He smiled tightly in response.

Janeway gestured to the planet that was still pictured on the viewscreen. "Well, Tom, if this place pans out, I'll make sure you're on the first wave for R and R," She put up a hand when Tom started to object, "I don't want to hear it, Lieutenant. You deserve a break."

Tom sighed a little in defeat. After his gut reaction to the planet, he really didn't want to be anywhere near it. "Thank you, Captain," He forced himself to say. She hadn't yet dismissed him, but Tom rose from the chair anyway. He was more than ready to leave. She put a hand on his arm and again, Tom was reminded of his mother and her constant concern for him. "Tom, if you need to talk, my door is always open."

He patted her hand, as he would have done to his mother. "Thanks, Captain, but I wouldn't be very good conversation. Unless you want to hear about my _consistently_ failing love life." Janeway for a moment looked like she'd swallowed a bug, then forced a smile on her face.

"Whatever you need to talk about, Lieutenant."

A/N: Thank you for reading! Comments are always welcome. Have a great weekend!

-Sancti


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